The Prince and the Potters: Year One
by Luke 923 HA
Summary: Andrew Prince is not a normal wizard; he will never own a wand or perform any spells. His temperature goes up and down like a reptile, and he gets sick every time someone tries to eat a chocolate frog in front of him. He and his twin cousins, Harry and Rachel Potter thought he had a disease at 1st but trying to hide a curse can get really messy when you're famous. doing all 7 years
1. Prologue: Severus Snape's Problems

Summary 1:

Andrew Prince was not a normal wizard; he would never own a wand or be able to perform any spells. His temperature goes up and down like a reptile, and he gets sick every time someone tries to eat a Chocolate frog in front of him. He and his twin cousins, Harry and Rachel Potter thought he had an unfortunate disease before Hagrid came along, but trying to hide a curse is really hard when you're famous. *doing all 7 years* Flames Welcome.

A.N. : So here's the Prologue as this is not the first attempt at this story I will put chapter one up for you guys as well. After the Prologue, the story will be told entirely from Andrew's point of view. I thought the prologue was kind of necessary though, because it's not your typical twin fic.

Prologue: 10 years ago

Severus Snape was in trouble.

He paced Dumbledore's office back and forth frantically. He couldn't stay still. For the hundredth time that day he broke down in tears.

Of all the places Lucius could've took him it had to be a bar! He was depressed! You don't take a person to a bar when they're depressed because they get themselves trashed and start thinking that every woman in that bar is the woman they loved! She didn't even look like Lily she just had red hair. Oh Merlin and she just had to be Potter's cousin didn't she?! He never could catch a break. Just when he's starting to put his life back together again, everything falls apart.

Not to mention Black is going to kill him if he ever finds out Susan did have a child by him.

In a single night, Severus had managed to ruin his life all over again. He'd fathered a child and the mother is his worst enemy's cousin. What's worse is his worst enemy's best friend is in love with her.

Andrew, the child was called. Severus had always wanted a son. Of course, that was before he'd made the biggest mistake of his life. Lily was the only one he'd ever wanted a child with and now this happened.

Susan wouldn't even allow him to see the boy. At school she always thought he was scum. She was the only Slytherin allowed around the Marauders because of her cousin, perfect _Potter_. She couldn't help she was put in Slytherin; every one of her _kind_ goes there. Merlin what if his son is one?!

Severus groaned at the thought of it. He didn't want to be away from the boy even if that…that…happens. Andrew, he thought correcting himself. His name was Andrew Severus Snape and he looks quite a bit like me. Except for those eyes. Those dreadful blue eyes. He couldn't help imagining the boy with bright emerald green eyes. _The way it should be, either green or black like mine._

Except the boy's surname wasn't even Snape, not legally anyway. Why Susan held the fact that they were enemies in school against him, he didn't know, but she named him Andrew Severus Snape so she could change his last name to Kross because his initials just couldn't spell out ASS could they? Then, she tells the boy his middle name is Scott. If he wasn't such a nice person he'd kill her but last night it seems someone had already beaten him to it, and killed his sweet Lily too.

Severus collapsed onto the floor of Dumbledore's office. Tears were pouring down his face and he was sobbing violently.

His Lily, the love of his life was gone. Gone forever.

Her two children live though, he thought to himself. Her twins live and so did Severus's son, but Dumbledore wouldn't let him keep his son.

No, because Voldemort will be after him. Him, Rachel and Harry.

So, for the third time, Voldemort had ruined his life.

Severus growls as couldn't keep the tears from coming. He made a promise to himself.

IF Andrew does have symptoms and he ends up being hurt in anyway, Severus will have Dumbledore's head on a platter.

IF Petunia and her whale of a husband mistreat Andrew, he will have their heads and Dumbledore's on a platter.

And if Voldemort even tries to touch a hair on Andrew's head, Severus will torture him until he dies, resurrect him and then have his head on a platter. He'd make Tom Riddle wish he'd never been born.

Meanwhile on Privet Drive

Albus Dumbledore appeared out of nowhere on the corner of the street . He rummaged through his robes for his Put-Outer, but his eyes were on the small grey and black tabby cat sitting stiffly on the curb as it watched him. Its tail is ever so slightly drifting back and forth.

"Fancy seeing you here," he said as he peers over his spectacles knowingly at the cat, "Professor McGonagall." He looked down as he took his Put-Outer out, and clicked it twelve times until the only lights you could see are the eyes of the cat watching him. He turned to smile at it, but it had vanished. Instead his smile was on a rather severe looking woman whose square glasses were similar to the markings the cat had around her eyes. She had big pale blue eyes, and her black greying hair was tied back into a tight bun.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked him sharply, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

"My dear Professor, I 've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall. "Are the rumors true Albus?"

"Ah, I'm afraid so Professor," he replied gravely, "The good and the bad."

"And the twins?"

"And Andrew, Hagrid is bringing them," he says.

"But Andrew has no reason to be here. Why, he has Susan and Se-," She started, but Dumbledore put a hand up cutting her sentence short.

He closed his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Last night upon returning from Ireland's upset of the Tornadoes, Susan went out with her teammates for a drink. They had a bit too much and she went out with Hector Moran, her current love interest. They were attacked, and Hector escaped, but only out of pure chance. Susan was not so lucky. We should've known. There were two prophecies instead of one. As James is Susan's cousin, Andrew was in their care when it…when it happened."

"What about Severus?"

Albus looked at her almost sympathetically, "It was a one night stand… he wanted to send the boy to an orphanage, after pleading with me for hours to let Andrew stay with him. I couldn't let him, if Voldemort ever returns…." He sighed, "I couldn't let him. He doesn't care about Susan, but he genuinely cares about that boy."

"Was there ever a woman in his life he actually cared about?" asked McGonagall irritably. She waited for Dumbledore to say something but he doesn't, although he eyes told that he desperately wanted to tell her.

"Why can't they all stay with him? I mean sure, he might not be the ideal role model for the kids, but he's a lot better than this lot," she said , "Albus, I've watched them all day, they're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable… they really are."

"It's far too dangerous for him to be raising the children. You know the prophecy says Andrew could be swayed for the worse, and help defeat the twins instead of helping them. That boy is prophesied to be the most powerful Mage in history. His father will be killed if Voldemort sees any personal relationship at all forming with him and the children. Besides, they have the protection Lily gave them here. We don't have a choice," Dumbledore explained rather quickly. "Andrew can never know who his father is, I'm afraid."

"I thought the Mage curse skips a generation, Albus. What if it's a different person?"

"We don't know, Andrew could be a normal wizard and he could be a Mage. Severus doesn't think so either and he called me a few rather…er…choice words for even suggesting his son has to bare a curse like that. He was born in America, and you know the whole origin adaptation defect that comes along with the curse, so we'll just have to wait and see if he has an American accent when he grows up with a British family."

"Don't you think it's dangerous, leaving Andrew here? If Mage symptoms do app—"

He interrupted her again. "It's the safest place for him."

"You couldn't just leave him with me?" she asked and Dumbledore takes a leaf out of her playbook, giving her a scolding look. She raises a convicting eyebrow, and he shakes his head, a smidge of a smile was playing on his lips.

"After all he's done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill three little kids? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the name of heaven did Harry, Rachel, and Andrew survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabs at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gives a great sniff as he takes a golden watch from his pocket and examines it. It's a very odd watch. It has twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must make sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late."

"Do you think it wise- to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"Ah…Professor I would trust Hagrid with my life," Albus told her shortly. "Look there he is now," he said pointing towards the clouds above the boringly normal village.

Both of them watch as a dot in the sky grows larger and larger until the motor bike is visible. Hagrid landed the bike in a messy fashion. He hopped off the bike carefully, before approaching them with three small bundles in his arms; he stared down at them with adoration in his eyes. "Got 'em right 'ere Professor," Hagrid says to Albus. " Little tikes fell asleep just as we were flyin' over Bristol."

Albus and Minerva stare down at them. They noticed Harry had a lightning scar on his forehead and Rachel had one by her right ear yet nothing is anywhere to be seen on Andrew. "Is that where?"

"Yep," answered Hagrid, "You -Know- Who utterly destroyed the house. That's where we think the curse backfired. We didn' think Andrew was alive. Harry and Rachel were cryin' n' thrashin.' Andrew was knocked unconscious. He ain'marked neither. It's right weird n' fishy if yeh ask me."

Minerva glanced at Albus who returned it knowingly. The three adults then exchanged looks as Hagrid proceeds to produce giant sized tears as he prepared to part with the three children. Minerva attempted to comfort him, but it fails. Hagrid grudgingly places Harry, Rachel, and Andrew on the doorstep of Number 4 Privet Drive.

"It's not right," Minerva sighed, "Every child in our world will know their names, and they're stuck here with this lot."

"Now, now Professor," Albus chastened, "they are far better off living away from all of that. I'm sure the Dursleys will treat them as their own."

Minerva disapparated right then and there with a scoff and a pop as Hagrid takes off on Sirius's old bike. Before Dumbledore left however, he placed a letter with the babies. "Good luck Rachel, Harry Potter, and Andrew Prince. I'm sure we'll meet again someday, hopefully under better circumstances," he told them sadly, before he disappeared into thin air.

Leave a review if you'd like I know it's only the prologue but I hope you guys found it interesting.

Here's some music I thought you guys might wanna take a look at:

Rock: Forgive Me -Versus the World

Pop: Midnight City -M83

Rap: Last Chance -Nicki Minaj (clean)

Christian Rap: Canon- Runaway (really cool song) just saying if you guys are Christians. If you aren't then I doubt you'd like it. It's got a cool beat though if you wanna check it out for the heck of it.

Another Rock Song Just because I can: Haven't Had Enough- Marianas Trench


	2. Chapter One: Symptoms Are Present

A/N: As promised here's chapter one :D and I put in first person because I feel like it would be boring if it was too much like the actual book so it's gonna be in Andrew's POV. I'll put Chapter two up Monday. It's probably one of my favorites. Anyway enjoy:p

Chapter 1: Symptoms Are Present.

I wake up in a cold sweat gasping for air. Goosebumps have erupted all over my body and my normally greasy black hair is soaked with sweat along with my shirt. My heart feels like it's going to beat out of my chest.

_It was only a nightmare_, I reassure myself. _You should be used to this by now, Andrew, you prat, _I think as I grab the ratty blanket and throw it to the other side of the room in frustration.

The nightmares are getting more and more frequent lately; they are always the same. I hear a woman's shrill scream pierce the air and then there is a flash of blinding green light but I can't remember anything else, maybe a little red light with the green but I can't be sure because that's always when I wake up.

Rachel and Harry, my cousins swear they have the same dream, but that it isn't as bad as when they have it. They aren't tortured by them, not like I am anyways.

They get tortured by the Dursleys though, just like I am. They force them to sleep cramped in the cupboard under the stairs and as for me, I get to sleep in the leaky, damp, cold basement. Child abuse, yes, but what can we do about it?

Nothing. We can't do anything because no one believes a word that comes out of our mouths.

The one time we tried to do something, it ended with the Dursleys telling the police we were very disturbed and had mental issues. Then, the Dursleys proceeded to tell them all the "lies we came up with."

You see, ever since we were little, strange things have been happening to us all. One time Petunia tried to force a horrible brown and orange sweater on Harry and it kept shrinking until it was the size of finger puppet. Then he got his hair chopped off and it grew back in one night.

That was scary but not as bad as the time Rachel made Mrs. Marks our third grade teacher get stuck to our gross fifth grade teacher Mr. Berg because she told Rachel she didn't deserve that she passed her. She told her that she only passed her because she didn't want to have to attempt to teach her again.

Mr. Berg doesn't bathe. Ever.

Poor Mrs. Marks. She was glued to his hand for a week.

Rachel didn't have incidents like that all the time, but her constant déjà vu made up for it.

My incidents were a little different. They always physical, unlike Harry's and Rachel's whose incidents are completely unrelated.

I don't know why. It's just this one time Dudley shoved Rachel and I was so angry I just grabbed his arm and there was a giant purple bruise there; I didn't get food for a week when it happened.

Then last year I decided not to fake being stupider than Dudley, and when I got my report card back, it said I'd made the honor roll. I was so scared of what Petunia and Vernon would do I almost threw up. Then, out of nowhere, clear watery-like stuff oozed out of my hands and onto the report card rendering in unreadable, just like that. The ink was all smeared and well, I threw it in the trash bin; Petunia and Vernon didn't even question it.

Then there was the _incident_.

It happened on the day after my birthday on the second day of spring: March 21, 1991.

I was running from Dudley and his gang who were chasing Harry and me again.

Running down the end of Privet Drive, we split off. I ran down an alley and sprung over a dumpster. Only, I went a bit too high and I was suddenly stuck to the side of a two story house. I was literally stuck. My hands acted as if they had super glue on them. No matter how much I tried, I couldn't get off, or even move.

After about an hour, the gang left to go after Harry, but I was stuck there for an additional two hours in the sun.

Luckily, Mrs. Figg found me and dragged me to the hospital where they stabilized my temperature because I had overheated. My temperature went up to 108 degrees. Mrs. Figg saved my life; the doctors said that I would've probably been dead had I stayed up there for another half an hour.

They were astounded, of course.

They'd never seen anything like it in their lives. Asked if they could run some tests, and with all the weird stuff that happens to Rachel and Harry, I flat out refused.

Then they tried to do them anyways. You should've seen the way they were starin' at me like I was some weird byproduct from some maniac scientist's experiment that had gone wrong.

Needless to say, I got an earful from the Dursleys. They were furious when they saw it. All three of us had to slave of their every need for a week afterwards. It was _terrible._

Ever since then, I've had all sorts of weird encounters whether it be body temperature or outside objects. Harry and Rachel are really worried about it, like they think I have some unfortunate disease, but they don't have any room to talk. Strange things happen to them too just with more than just body related stuff, which in my opinion is worse.

Rachel's the one that dreams about her life before it happens and that's creepy.

There's something totally wrong with us and we told the cops what kept happening to us which probably wasn't the wisest decision because Officer Broadwater told Vernon we needed to see a trained specialist that dealt with childhood mental health. She recommended we go see a freaking shrink! I still can't believe she didn't believe us! It's not like we could do strange things on cue!

Thank goodness the Dursleys don't like spending money on us or we would all be seeing Dr. Nicely once a week. Apparently this guy can rival Dudley in the human pig category according to Rachel who has seen him on a billboard.

If the Dursleys lie to the cops, they lie to us as well; I just know it.

Exhibit A: I don't believe Harry and Rachel's parents died in a brutal car accident along with my mom. That's what they always tell us but I don't buy it because the Dursleys say they were drunk. Why would they be drunk if three babies were in the car? Rachel and I have been trying to figure that one out for ages.

Harry just accepts it blindly. He's the gullible one in the family when it comes to this stuff, but they don't expect us to believe Harry and Rach got their scars in a car accident can they? That's what they told them when they asked where they got them. Petunia was like, "In the car crash where your parents died, and don't ask questions."

That's the most important rule, living the Dursleys: Don't ask questions.

But I'm sorry I can't not ask questions about those scars. I was born curious in the first place, and those scars cross all abnormal boundaries. I just have to know!

Harry's got a large one on his forehead and Rach has got a small dime sized one by her ear, but that's not the weird part. Their scars are shaped like perfect and I do mean _perfect _lightning bolts.

I mean you should see them. I'm serious.

Then, they tell me my dad abandoned us because he was a coward, and this is another thing I can't believe. It doesn't seem like a lie but I can't believe that he would leave me with these people.

I can't believe a word they say even then, because I think they even lie to us about our _age._ . I look way too old to only be eleven.

Looking at me, you'd think I'm at least fourteen. I'm head taller than Dudley and he's tall for his age anyway. Acne covers my back. Oily jet black hair hangs in my unnaturally bright electric blue eyes. My eyes are the first thing you see when you look at me and the only thing I like about my appearance even with the dark circles underneath them.

Rach always tells me I look like I've been punched and that I look sick because I'm too pale. My nose is long and skinny over my thin lips which are offset by my square jaw. Petunia says I take after my freak of a father.

Apparently, they've hated each other since childhood. That's at least what I get from the little she's told me as we are not allowed to ask questions.

The only thing Petunia ever said about my mom was that she was the twins' dad's cousin and a trolley. Also, apparently I was born in a one night stand, and according to Petunia that's another reason why my dad didn't want me.

So, she knows all four of our parents yet she won't say a word.

I have a theory that they just kidnapped us when we were little or something. They do seem like the kind of people who would do that. I mean, I have an American accent and I supposedly grew up with a British family. This is another thing that drives Petunia and Vernon crazy. "Don't talk like that you freak," they say, "Talk _normally_," they say so I have to fake a British accent around them. My British accent is horrible, and I don't know what to do. I can't fake how I talk; it's just how I talk.

Sometimes I wonder if Harry and Rach are even my cousins. It's not like we look alike.

Harry and Rachel are _twins_ and they don't even look alike. Sure, they have the same bright almond shaped green eyes, but that's it. Rachel has wavy dark red hair, and Harry has messy jet black. They are built the same, skinny and scrawny with knobby knees.

Rachel has almost non-visible freckles spread across her thin face. She has no need for glasses, yet Harry does. She's a bit more attractive than Harry also.

I think the reason Harry and Rach are so small and skinny for their age is because they've lived in that small dark cupboard all their lives, but I don't know because I grew out of it. Harry and I shared it first, but then I outgrew it, so Rach switched out of the basement.

Plus, they even look smaller because, like me, they have to wear Dudley's old baggy clothes. You know Dudley, the guy's like four times bigger than Harry, and I may be taller than him but he's about three times bigger than me around. Dudley's punched Harry so many times in the nose he has to hold his glasses together with Scotch tape. The only thing Harry ever told me he likes about his appearance is his scar. Rach doesn't like hers. I don't know why. It's probably because she's a girl, and girls _always_ have to have a flawless appearance. _Please_!

If we are related, we really don't have stuff in common besides our hot headedness. The only difference is Harry knows how to control his mouth, and me—well, let's just say I'm working on it. Rachel doesn't even try, so it gets her in trouble a lot-especially living with a family like the Dursleys.

And today Rachel will more than likely get in a ton of trouble because today is Dudley's birthday—the day we are treated more like slaves than any other day of the year.

I shake the thought from my mind and get shakily to my feet. I'm still in a little bit of a shock from the nightmare so it's a little harder to stay upright than usual.

I creep over to my worn dresser and pull out an overly large T-shirt, a pair of thread bare jeans, and a pair of bleach stained boxers, all of which used to belong to Dudley. I sneak up the steps, pick the lock on the door locking me in the basement, ( a trick I learned from Rachel) and slink quietly into the loo, careful not to wake the Dursleys.

I am about to get in the shower when I notice my face out of the corner of my eye.

"RACHEL!" I thunder as throw on my clothes and bound to the cupboard under the stairs where I hear laughter.

"Did you like your makeover, Andrew?" she snorts opening the door to her cupboard with one of her bobby pins, "I thought it did wonders for your complexion."

"Oh yeah giving me a marker mustache and putting Petunia's make up on me so makes me look attractive," I say irritably.

"Will you two shut up?!" says Harry, "or do you want to wake up the Dursleys? They'll kill us!" before he goes back into the cupboard.

"Sorry, Harry," I say apologetically. "You two should get some sleep before Petunia gets you up to cook Dudley's breakfast. As for you Rachel," I say, "You know what they say about payback, don't you? You're gonna regret what you did."

"I'd like to see you try, Yankee," she retorts. I can see her grin through the dark.

"Oh you will. Red coats always lose to the Yankees; you of all people should know this."

She laughs as I walk back to the bathroom. I take a shower, brush my teeth and change.

I decide to go lay on the couch. Unfortunately, I fell asleep, and the first thing I hear afterwards is a shrill scream.

"And that'd be Petunia," I mutter to myself as I open my eyes to a very angry Petunia Dursley.

"Good morning to you too," I tell her in my best British accent but she doesn't say good morning to me like a normal aunt-ish person should but no…. instead I get this—

"WHAT the bloody hell do you think you're doing laying on my couch?!" she asks sneering at me like I'm some sort of filth she has to clean up.

I fold my arms behind my head, "Well I was trying to sleep, but since you so kindly decided to interrupt that—"

I didn't get to finish my sentence because Petunia drags me off of the couch and onto the floor, and now my butt hurts.

I just smirk up at her. I hear a, "hmphh," as I watch her turn on her heel and go into the hallway.

I really should be more careful about where I fall asleep from now on because I really landed on my butt wrong.

I hear her rap on the twins' door as I heave myself off of the floor.

"Up. Get up. Now!" I walk into the hallway just in time to see Rachel red head poke out from the cupboard door.

She gives Petunia her famous Death Glare of Doom, "Was the rapping really necessary? You woke us both up yelling at Andrew," she says irritably, and I almost laugh but I'm able to hold it in.

Petunia growls and tells them both to get up and go cook. She tells me to do the eggs. Too bad I'll probably burn them. I'm such a talented cook by the way. I can burn water.

I follow Harry and Rachel into the kitchen. "You know she called you a wimp, right?" Harry whispers.

I shrug, "Doesn't surprise me none."

The table's littered completely with Dudley's presents. It looks as if Dudley got the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television, and a racing bike. Don't ask me why he wanted one. The three of us have been tryin' to figure that one out for ages. He's so fat, it's a wonder he can even run under all that weight. He hates exercise- unless it involves punching someone, and us three are his favorite targets.

Although, he does have a hard time catching us, and he won't even try punching me anymore after the huge bruise he received the last time he did. This means he'll never lay a finger on Rach again, and I mean ever. At least he never tries with his friend Piers around. He's got it bad for Rachel; I feel so sorry for her.

If I wouldn't die from the punishments I'd kick Dudley's arse clear to America and back. You don't hit girls and that's a lesson he needs to learn.

I am frying the eggs and Harry is flipping over the bacon as Rachel sets the table with difficulty because of all the presents when the other two Dursleys decide to show up in the kitchen. Rachel whispers something to me about Dudley and how they should shave his whole head, causing me to laugh, and fumble with the frying pan earning me a glare from Vernon, but you know what? I didn't burn them so ha Vernon.

We put the food on the table (again with difficulty) while Dudley is busy counting his presents. I see his face fall, and shoot a warning glance at Harry and Rach. They just roll their eyes.

"Thirty-six! But last year- last year I had thirty-seven!" Dudley yells.

I should've expected as much.

"But they're a lot bigger than last year," Petunia says soothingly, but there's no point. Once Dudley's on the verge of a temper tantrum, there's no stopping him.

"I don't care how big they are!" moans Dudley. I could see him going red in the face. The twins and I start shoveling food in our mouths, wanting to get out of here before he could do much to us, as we aren't allowed to retaliate, and we don't want to lose our meals because Petunia and Vernon would take them away.

Petunia is obviously also sensing danger too, because she says quickly, "And we'll buy you two new presents while we're out. How's that pumpkin?"

"Oh," replies Dudley. "Okay."

Vernon chuckles.

"Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffles Dudley's hair, and right now, I think I wanna puke. Harry has a disgusted look on his face.

The telephone rings and Aunt Petunia goes to answer it while Harry, Vernon, and I watch Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He then rips the paper off a gold watch as Petunia comes back from the telephone looking murderous slash worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she says. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take them." She jerks her head toward me, Rach and Harry.

I crack up as Dudley's mouth falls open in horror and Petunia cracks me on the back of the head. Then Rachel loses it and Harry rolls his eyes at us both.

Every year they take Dudley and a friend out to amusement parks, fancy restaurants or to the movies, and every year me, Rach and Harry are left at Mrs. Figg's house. It smells horrible in there like a a mix of old people and cat pee. We hate it there. I mean it is better than the Dursleys' but _come on_.

She really is nice. She did take me to the hospital. She might've saved my life, but she forces us to look at pics of every cat she's ever owned. Ever wonder how many cats an old lady can own in a lifetime? Well, it's a lot.

"Now what?" Petunia asks us both furiously as if this is all our fault. I know we shouldn't be happy over Mrs. Figg's misfortune, but it's hard when I think it's gonna be a while before we had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, Mittens, Tufty, and sooo many more again.

"What?" I ask Petunia annoyed as she stares us down like a hawk.

"We could phone Marge," Vernon suggests.

"Don't be silly, she hates them," she tells him bluntly.

"Thanks," I mutter sarcastically as the twins snort. They always do that. You know, talk about us like we aren't even in the room. You get used to it.

"What about what's-her-name- your friend Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," Petunia sighs.

"You could just leave us here," Harry puts in hopefully. I'm sure he wants to watch t.v. and play on Dudley's computer. I do too, but they'd never leave us here alone.

Petunia looks like she just swallowed a lemon which makes me wanna laugh even more. "And come back to the house in ruins?" she snarls at us.

"We promise we won't blow up the house!" we chorus in unison, but they aren't listening.

"I suppose we could take them to the zoo," says Petunia slowly, "…and leave them in the car."

We roll our eyes again. Get used to it, it happens a lot when you live with people like this. There are many dangers when leaving eleven year olds in the car. What if we suffocate? Of course we do know how to open the door, but that's not the point. I'm pretty sure it's child abuse.

Dudley begins to cry loudly, or pretends to cry-it's been years since he's actually cried, but he knows that if he screws up his face enough, and puts in some fake wailing, his Mommy and Daddy will give their Diddykins whatever he wants.

"Diddykins don't cry. Mummy won't let them spoil your special day," she cries flinging her arms around her precious little pig of a son. He yells in between sobs that we always ruin everything. By the way, his acting is laughable. You'd think after all those drama T.V. shows Petunia watches, and all the neighbor stalking she does, she'd be able to spot a person who's acting is that bad in a heartbeat, but you know, he is her son, and you know what they say: Love is blind.

That must be the case here.

The doorbell rings, "Oh thank heavens, they're here!" Petunia says, and the next thing I know Dudley's best friend Piers Polkiss, who I like I said is in love with Rachel, walks in with his mom. Piers is a scrawny boy that looks like a rat. He usually holds the arms of the people so Dudley can beat them to a pulp. Dudley stops the pretend crying immediately.

Now, a half an hour later, the three of us can't believe our luck. We're sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Piers and Dudley on the way to the zoo. Harry makes sure Rachel is as far away from Piers as possible.

He is sitting beside me is obviously carefully avoiding even nudging me like he's scared I'll end up hurting him. I shouldn't take advantage of this. I really shouldn't. "Boo," I whisper into his ear. Next thing I know, Piers is now in Dudley's lap, ("Geroff me,") and me, Rach, and Harry are shaking with laughter.

Vernon glares back at us through the rearview mirror, "Quiet down back there," Uncle Vernon says gruffly, "And remember what I told you two before we got in the car," he growls. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. He told us, "If there's any funny business, any at all," He jabbed a chubby sausage finger in my direction, "even a word said abnormally, then you three won't have any meals for a week. Get in!" So we did.

The problem is, as I've said before, strange things always happen around us. We're like weirdness magnets. No matter how hard we try, trouble always seems to follow us…..like everywhere.

Vernon complains to Petunia about motorcycles this morning. That was the subject. He always complains to her about _something _when he drives. He's got a severe case of road rage.

"Roaring like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he says as a motorcycle passes them on a freeway.

"I had a dream about a motorcycle," Harry recalls suddenly without thinking, "it was flying."

"Awesome!" says Rachel, "You know I had a dream like that too once. I think there was a giant in it."

I clap a hand to my forehead, "Guys!" I moan. Well… this is gonna be a long car ride even if that dream sounds extremely familiar to me too.

Vernon almost rear ends the car in front of us, sending us lurching forward from the seatbelts. I mentally prepare myself for a yelling match, inwardly groaning. He literally turns clear around, and screams at Harry, "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY, BOY! AND THERE ARE NO GIANTS!" he screeches at Rach.

Dudley and Piers snicker. Rachel gives them her famous Death Glare of Doom, and that's all it takes for them to shut it.

"I know they don't. It was only a dream," he says defensively, and then I hear him mutter, "Calm down…" under his breath.

Soon, we reach the zoo. It's a sunny Saturday afternoon, so the place is crawling with people. The Dursleys buy Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and before they could hurry away, the lady asks us what we wanted so we all get cheap lemon pops, which I'm relieved, because I'm already sweating. I can feel my temperature going up by the second.

We'd had the best morning we'd had in a long time. We were careful to walk a little apart from Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, so that they wouldn't attempt to make entertainment with us. Every once in a while Piers would try to get near Rachel and every time Harry would growl and get in between the two of them.

Rach and I were maturely making gagging noises in the background while Harry was distracting him. Rach was looking worried though. Piers was really starting to creep her out.

We eat in the zoo restaurant when Dudley has a temper tantrum when he thought his Knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top. They, of course, buy him another one allowing Harry to finish off the first one. He had offered it to Rachel, but she politely declined saying that her one fear in life was getting fatter than Dudley.

I rolled my eyes, grinned, and then smacked her in the back of the head.

We leave the restaurant in high spirits and head toward the reptile house, but when we get inside, the hair on the back of my neck is immediately on end. I start to get nervous, as it feels really off in here, and I can literally feel adrenaline pumping through my veins. My pulse is quickening. Not to mention it's cold and dark in here. There are all sorts of snakes and lizards in here crawling behind the glass.

Something is really off. I can feel the sweat pouring off my forehead.

Harry and Rach immediately notice something is up.

"Uh Andrew…are you feeling okay?" asks Rach.

"I don't know."

"You're scaring us," Harry mutters through clenched teeth.

After a while Vernon is eyeing me suspiciously. "I swear, I'm not doing anything," I hiss at him, my voice quivering. Okay, scratch that. My entire body is trembling. Dudley and Piers laugh. "Let's find the biggest snake in the place, and scare the bloody hell out of Andrew," says Piers stupidly. I resist the urge to actually lunge at him, but I do fake it, making him jump like twenty feet in the air.

Dudley has no problem hunting out the biggest snake in the place, and when they do, I'm like paralyzed. My body trembles so bad, I can't move it. "What, is Andy afraid of snakes? Awwe…." It takes all of my strength not to knock him out cold right then and there. This isn't me. It's- it's like some sort of instinct is taking over my body.

"An-Andrew, are you okay?" Rach asks again timidly.

"Fine," I huff. Everything's like…moving.

Harry grabs my wrist. Worry is plastered all over his face. "Drew, your-your eyes are red," he whispers frantically.

"What?" I ask in disbelief. Rachel quickly turns me toward the glass looking scared out of her wits. Instead of my normal bright blue eyes, blood red ones take my place and I yelp in panic. My heart's beating like ninety miles an hour. They all turn to look at me and I hide my face. They look away immediately. Once Harry understands I'm not in any pain, he relaxes a little, but Rachel doesn't. She wrenches my arm looking very green.

I am as white as a dead person and Harry offers me a reassuring smile, turning his attention to the glass.

Dudley stood with his nose to the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils. "Make it move," he whines stupidly to his father. Vernon obediently taps the glass, it didn't move. "Do it again," he says as he and his father rapped on the glass. Harry looked furious through the crack view I had through my fingers.

"He's asleep," Harry snaps.

"He's boring," Dudley moans.

Harry moves to the front of the tank looking intently at the snake.

"Drew come here," says Harry, "You can see him better this way."

I shake my head, "Uh-uh," I say, "Look what these snakes are doing to me. Maybe I should go to the hospital."

Harry cocks his head, "Are you sure it's the snakes? I mean weird things happen to us all the time. No real reason to worry."

My jaw drops, "Harry!" Rachel hisses, "Look at his eyes!"

He shrugs and he turns back to the snake. Typical, but I can't say I really blame him, I mean look at all the weird stuff that happens to us.

Harry is letting out hissing sounds. I perk up and watch him intently. This is weird even for us. Then Rachel walks up and starts doing the same thing looking wide-eyed at me, and then back at the snake.

The snake nods its head, and I mean nods. I back away carefully. I'm really going mad. I-I should get on medication. Well, that definitely wouldn't work. I'd get experimented on as soon as I set foot in the hospital. Maybe they'd put me on a strange segment of Oprah or something.

"Dude, what're you two doing?!" I ask worriedly.

"Nothing," Harry and Rach answer quickly at the same time.

Then, I notice the snake is looking at me. I bend over feeling like I'm gonna puke.

"Harry...Rachel…get away from that snake," I order shakily.

They let out another round of hissing sounds.

"DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"

I hear them come running, but my vision goes fuzzy. "Out of the way you!" says Dudley afar off, but I hear a crack, and the sound of jeans hitting concrete.

I stumble forward, find Harry, and help him up. I feel food coming up, this is so not good.

I hear Dudley and Piers howl. What's going on? I hear Harry gasp. I hear Petunia screech. I heard screams and blurs of people running out of the house….but….then…I felt it. The feel of scales on my leg. The snake somehow got out of the tank. I blow chunks all over the floor. The last thing I hear before I'm enveloped in darkness was Harry and the snake hissing, and then maybe Rachel yelling, "ANDREW!"

I wake to someone shaking me awake, "Drew, wake up. Mate, please wake up."

I feel the cold basement floor on my cheek. I am lying in a really awkward position, "Fine, fine, I'm up, I'm up," I groan like most mornings until I see a blinding light and I shoot up. "What are you doing?!"

"Shhh," Harry hisses.

I rub my eyes, "How long was I out? What time is it?" I wince. There's an aching pain across my chest and sides. This really isn't good.

"Well, its one-thirty so—" he mentally counts up the hours, "You've been out for about ten hours." He sighs, "Good, your eyes are back to normal."

"Ugh," I say, "that snake really got the best of me. Why didn't you wake me?" He gives a nervous chuckle.

"Piers told Uncle Vernon we were talking to the snake so," he draws a breath, "naturally…we got locked in the cupboard. We snuck out to get you up, and then to go nick some food," he explains quickly.

"I picked the lock," says Rachel slyly with a devilish grin on her face.

"Uh, this might seem like a weird question, but why am I hurting all over?" I ask awkwardly.

"They probably tossed you down the steps," Harry says irritably.

"Harry, what's wrong with me? I haven't been right since the wall incident. Do I have a disease like," I shrug, "I don't know cancer or something?"

Harry sighs in disbelief. He seems to be struggling not to laugh, "No, Andrew, you don't have Cancer. If you had Cancer, and you hadn't gotten checked out by now, you'd be dead," he finishes failing to contain a smirk.

"Fine, but then how do you explain the snake's behavior, then?" I interrogate.

They suddenly become very interested in their shoes, and Harry takes a deep breath, "The snake said something about 'that Mage smells delicious'."

"What?!" I whisper frantically. "Did you two actually talk to that thing? Piers wasn't making it up?"

They shook their heads.

"But how?"

"We don't know," Rachel tells me defensively.

"Great! Just great!" I moan, my hands on my head, "What the heck is a Mage anyway?"

Harry shrugs his shoulders.

"I mean, why does all the weird crap have to happen to us?"

He gives me an understanding half smile, "This stuff is getting old very quickly. I'm starting to believe there really is something wrong with us. Maybe they fed us poison when were younger and we went weird." I roll my eyes.

"Yeah," I say grinning, "I wouldn't put it past 'em. Let's go eat. I'm starving," I whisper as I start climbing up the steps wincing. They must've screwed up my ankle too.

"B-but I was being serious," Harry stammers behind me.

I wave him off, "Get real," I say chuckling along with Rach.

He joins in not entirely convinced.

We raid the fridge and nick a few sandwiches, woof them down, and then we go to bed. I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

AN: Again what'd you think, I know it's slow at first, but I wanted to give you some background and how he processes his thoughts

Here's some more music, I love music so, you'll see it a lot even in the story but don't worry it's no singing. I hate that in a story, just references and nods to 90's bands.

Pop: Rio- Afrojack

Country: Runaway- Love and Theft

Christian Rap (only because I'm obsessed with it) : Thi'sl- Signed Up to Die

Rock: White Rabbit- Egypt Central

Rap: Don't Make 'Em Like You- Ne-Yo


	3. Chapter Two: Someone is Stalking Us

**Disclaimer: I'm only doing one of these things cuz I think they're stupid. As I am a seventeen year old girl, I do not own Harry potter cuz J.K. Rowling's like forty or fifty something.**

**A/N: So here's chapter two guys.  
**

**Enjoy this chapter; I hope you like it, because it was really fun writing it. :D**

**This chapter is dedicated to Dem Bones, my first reviewer:D thanks for being awesome!**

Chapter 2: Someone is Stalking us

So the escape of that snake earned us our longest punishment ever. We are just being let out of our rooms, and the summer holidays, have just begun. Dudley already broke his video camera, crashed his remote control plane, and the first time on his new racing bike, he ran over poor Mrs. Figg on her crutches.

We're glad school's over, but that means constantly fleeing Dudley's gang who are at the house every single day. They're all too happy to join in with Rachel/Andrew/Harry hunting which they wouldn't even be able to do if I was able to hit back, but you know what? I can't, so I have to suck it up.

The twins and I have found out whenever I experience a strong emotion other than happiness, my eyes glint red. So, that means we have to not let the Dursleys and the rest of Dudley's gang to see me. It's getting harder to not get mad at them.

We've also found out that my incidents might be water related, because Rachel and I were horsing around outside while Harry was sitting down reading a book about strange disorders( unfortunately because of me).

I sliced my foot on a piece of glass, but that's not the weird part.

When I put it under water to clean it, the cut _disappeared_! I guess the water healed it or something, and now we have started experimenting with water.

Yesterday I shot it out my hand! This is getting a bit scary, but then again it's totally awesome too. Rachel is so jealous. It's really funny.

Time's passing slowly, and nothing really happened until this morning when the Dursleys went out to get Dudley's new uniform—and left us with Figg. She isn't as bad as usual. I mean the house still stinks like cat pee, but she apparently broke her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she doesn't seem to like them as much as before. Mrs. Figg even tried to bake us cookies, but Rach and I ate the dough before she could get her hands on it. It's a wonder we didn't throw up.

Harry strongly disapproved of this.

When the Dursleys get home, Dudley parades around in the ugliest school uniform known to man while the Dursleys looked on him with pride. We are disgusted. Enough said.

The next morning we wake up to a horrible smell in the kitchen. We follow the stench putting hands over our mouths to a large tub by the sink. It's full of what looks like dirty rags in grey swimming water.

"Ugh, what is that?" I ask clenching my nose from the stench. She gives me the 'you dare to ask me a question look', before looking pleased.

"Your new school uniform, and talk normally!" she snaps as a nasty grin forms on her face. We roll our eyes and exchanged looks imagining how ridiculous we are going to look when we show up for our first day at Stone Wall.

"Yours is on the counter girl," she tells Rachel gesturing toward a grey uniform that didn't look half as bad as ours. It actually looks like a uniform as ours look like bits of dead elephant skin, "As Dudley doesn't own any skirts, I had to buy yours second hand."

Dudley and Vernon came in as usual except they had their noses wrinkled from the smell of our new uniforms. We then hear a click in the mail slot as the mail comes through.

"Get the mail Dudley," Vernon orders.

"Make Andrew get it," he sneers.

"Make Rachel get it," I reply lazily.

"Make Harry get it," she says.

"Boy, get the mail," Vernon hisses.

He slides out of his chair and walks out into the hall.

Ten minutes pass and Harry still isn't back.

"Hurry up boy!" he barks, "What are you doing checking for letter bombs?" he asks chuckling at his own joke-Which was cheesy I might add, but that's a given with Vernon.

Harry comes back with the mail and gives it to his uncle who reads it.

"Marge's ill," he says, "ate a funny whelk."

"Food poisoning?" Rachel asks scoffing, "She probably deserved it." He ignores her which is probably for the best.

"Dad! Look!" says Dudley, "Harry's got letters!"

Harry's trying to open one of the letters when Vernon snatches from his grasp.

"That's mine!" Harry snarls, "And the other ones are Rachel and Drew's! Give them here!"

"What?" I ask curiously jumping up from the table, "I got one too?"

Rachel is absentmindedly staring a hole into her cereal.

"Who'd be writing to you three?" sneers Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face goes from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it's the grayish white of old porridge. I chuckle at the sight of him.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasps.

Dudley tries to grab the letter to read it, but Vernon holds it high out of his reach. Petunia takes it curiously and reads the first line. I think she might faint. She clutches her throat and makes a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness—Vernon!"

They stare at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry, Rachel, me, and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley isn't used to being ignored. He gives his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting Stick.

"I want to read those letters," Dudley says loudly.

"I want to read it," says Harry furiously, "as it's mine."

"Me too."

"Get out, all of you," croaks Uncle Vernon stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

We don't move.

"I WANT MY LETTER!" he shouts

"Let me see it!" demands Dudley.

"Let me see mine!" I order.

Things went from peaceful to chaotic with a couple of letters. The Dursleys are _so_ hiding something and this time I know it.

"OUT!" roars Uncle Vernon, and he takes all three of us by the scruffs of our necks and throws us into the hall. Harry and Dudley promptly have a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry, his glasses dangling from one ear, lays flat on his stomach to listen at the crack between the door and the floor.

"Must you fight to hear them I can hear them from clear back here," Rachel says as she slides down to the floor leaning against the wall still looking like she's zoning out. She obviously doesn't give a crap.

"Vernon," Petunia says in a quivering voice, "look at the address—how could they possibly know where they sleep? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching—spying—might be following us," mutters Vernon wildly.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, someone's stalking us? That's just weird," I say.

"Someone's stalking us?" asks Rachel. "Ew."

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want—"

"He's pacing up and down the kitchen," Harry whispers to me.

"No," he says finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer… Yes, that's best… we won't do anything…"

"But—"

"I'm not having one—much less three—in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear it when we took them in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

Today, when he got back from work, Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visits us when we are in the cupboard . Harry tells me all about the letters.

"Where's my letter?" says Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon squeezes through the door. "Who's writing to me—us?"

"Yeah," I say.

"No one. It was addressed to you by mistake," says Vernon shortly. "I have burned them."

"It was not a mistake," says Harry angrily, "they had our cupboard and Drew's basement on it. Addressed to Mr. H.J. Potter, Ms. R.J. Potter, and Mr. A.S. Prince."

"Wait, my name's not Prince, it's Kross," I say confusedly. "I'm Andrew Scott Kross. My mom's last name."

"Yeah, well it had your basement on it," says Rachel, "And you have known for a while that they're lying to us, so spill it Dursley," Rachel spits.

"SILENCE!" yells Vernon, and a couple of spiders fall from the ceiling, which I quickly brush off. Ew. He takes a few deep breaths and then forces his face into a smile, which looks quite painful.

"Er—yes, Rachel, Harry,—about this cupboard and basement Andrew. Your aunt and I have been thinking… you two and the b—Andrew—, are really getting a bit big for them… we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom."

"What are you hiding from us?" Rachel interrogates pointedly crossing her arms.

"Why?" I ask raising an eyebrow.

"Don't ask questions!" his uncle snaps. "Take your stuff upstairs."

And he leaves before Rachel could get another word out.

"What was that about?" I ask as I stand up bumping my head on the ceiling. Ow. Rachel laughs and Harry chuckles. "Shut it," I tell him rubbing the back of my head.

"Uncle Vernon just gave us Dudley's second bedroom," Harry said.

I stare at him, "Well I know that, but why?" I ask

He shrugs.

"I cannot believe he burned them," Harry says angrily, "He had no right! They were addressed to us!"

"When do they ever care about us? Vernon's an idiot to put it lightly. He would've never let us have those letters…selfish git," I say.

"He's hiding something," says Rachel. "Drew if you're somehow right about that _stupid_ kidnapping theory, then these people who are stalking us could be our family."

"Nobody kidnapped us," snaps Harry.

"Harry someone's stalking us."

"So," Harry sighs. "C'mon. Let's get our stuff upstairs."

The Durlseys' house has four bedrooms: one for Vernon and Petunia, one for visitors (usually Vernon's sister, Marge, prat.), one where Dudley sleeps, and one where Dudley keeps all the toys and things that won't fit into his first bedroom.

It only takes us one trip upstairs to move everything we own from the cupboard and basement to this room. We sit down on the bed and stare around it. Nearly everything in here is broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor's dog; in the corner is Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favorite program had been canceled; there is a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which is up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They are the only things in the room that look as though they've never been touched.

From downstairs comes the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, "I don't want them in there… I need that room… make them get out…"

I chuckle, "Typical Dudley."

Harry nods," yeah," he sighs and stretches out on the bed, Rachel props herself up on the window seal and I sit up against the wall on the floor. I make water come out of my hands and watch it swoosh around.

"What do you think they're hiding Drew? What if your real name really is Prince?"

I shrug, "I don't know, but whatever they're hiding is huge. That's one thing we know for sure. I mean look at my _hands._ I'm just hoping psychos aren't really stalking us."

"I know," says Rachel.

"No one's stalking us," says Harry stubbornly, "I just wanna know what's in those letters."

"We all do," I sigh putting my small wave of water out, and throw a pillow on the floor. I pull a ratty blanket over me and try to get some sleep, which doesn't come at all.

When morning and breakfast comes, everyone's rather quiet. Dudley's in shock. He's screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back.(We all laugh and get hit too.) Vernon and Petunia keep looking at each other darkly.

When the mail arrives, Vernon, who seems to be trying to be nice to us, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting Stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, "There's two more! 'Mr. H.J. Potter., The Smallest Bedroom 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, Ms. R.J. Potter The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey' , and 'Mr. A.S. Prince, The Smallest Bedroom—"

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leaps from his seat and runs down the hall, we are right behind him. Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which is made difficult by the fact that Harry grabs him around the neck from behind. The dude's got guts, that's for sure. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone, even me—gets hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Vernon, straightens up, gasping for breath, with the letters clutched in his hand.

"Go to your cupboard—I mean, your bedroom," he wheezes at the three of us. "Dudley—go—just go."

Harry walks round and round our new room and I set by the bed on the floor with my head in my hands. Someone knows we moved out of the cupboard and basement and they seem to know we haven't received our first letters. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time we'd make sure they didn't fail, even if they were stalking us. Harry's got a plan.

"Just wait," Harry said smugly. "Just wait. We'll get them. You'll see."

"I hope you're right," I say as a sudden thought occurs to me, "Harry, do you think it's my dad sending those letters, saying he's gonna come get us?" I ask.

He shakes his head, "No, sorry to let your hopes dwindle, but he'd probably just show up at the doorstep to get us, and even if he didn't, I'm sure the Dursleys would be jumping for joy all too happy to show us to the door."

Well, there goes all hope of seein my dad. "True," I mumble sadly.

"But it makes sense though," says Rachel, "Those letters keep saying his last name is Prince, it just doesn't make sense."

"Rachel, what you just said doesn't make sense," I say.

"Oh you know what I mean," she says flinging her arms around me.

The repaired alarm clock rings at six o'clock the next morning. Harry turns it off quickly and gets dressed silently trying to keep quiet. I watch him sleepily on the floor.

"Good luck," I yawn. Rachel lets out a loud snore and turns back over.

Harry gives me a thumbs up and creeps downstairs without turning on any of the lights.

A few minutes later when I'm half asleep again I hear, "AAAARRRRGGGHHH," I bolt out of bed or floor whichever you want to call it, Rachel at my heels and jump the steps tumbling into Vernon and Harry. It's too late though, Vernon is already tearing the six letters into pieces. Jerk.

Vernon does not go to work, but he nails the mail slot shut.

"See," he tells Petunia nastily, "If they can't deliver them, then they'll give up."

"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."

Rachel snorts, "The only time she's ever made sense." They just ignore her yet again which is probably a good thing.

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," Vernon says, trying to knock in a nail with a piece of fruitcake Petunia brings him.

Friday comes and so do twelve letters. Whoever's been writing these letters must be getting as P.O.'d as I-we are, because the letters keep coming. They couldn't go in through the slot so they are forced under the door, and a few are even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.

Vernon stays home—again. After burning all our letters—again, he gets out a hammer and nails, boarding up the cracks under the front and back doors so no one can get out. According to Harry he's humming a song from Petunia's favorite soap opera called, "Tiptoe through the Tulips," while he worked. I shake head He belongs in the nutter bin.

"He's gone mad," Harry mutters while we watch him.

"He's gone insane," says Rach wide-eyed.

Things get out of hand when Saturday morning comes. Twenty-four letters come for us, but it was really weird. They are rolled up hidden in the two dozen eggs our very confused milkman handed Petunia through our living room window. Vernon makes furious calls to the post office and the Daily trying to find someone to talk to while Petunia shreds our letters in the food processor. If this gets any funnier, we're gonna have to phone MTV and set up a reality show. Seriously, we'd be millionaires.

"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asks us in amazement.

We shrug, "Stalkers?" Rachel suggests, and to my surprise he laughs.

Why is he being civil toward us?

Sunday Vernon sets down at the breakfast table. He looks really tired and sick, but….happy. Something's up and I don't like it.

"No post on Sundays," he reminds us happily in a sing-song voice. Dang, well at least no one died. "No blasted letters today. Not one single bloody-"

Just then a letter whizzes into the kitchen from the chimney, and hits him in the face. Yes! Then as I mentally celebrate a victory as forty or fifty more shoot like bullets from the chimney. Harry, Rach, and I start cracking up as we try to grab them.

"OUT! OUT!" Vernon yells.

He seizes us by our necks, and throws us in the hall. When Petunia and Dudley run out with their arms over their heads, Vernon slams the door shut. We can still hear the letters shooting in bouncing off the walls and floor.

That does it," says Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. Mental break down much? "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

He looks so dangerous with half his mustache missing that we just don't argue.

Ten minutes later we wrench our way through the boarded-up doors and are in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley is sniffing in the backseat; his father has hit him the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag. "It's all good Dudley, he's belongs in an asylum," I whisper back at him and Harry nods. Rachel just glares and Harry elbows her in her ribs.

We drive. And we drive. Even Petunia doesn't dare ask where we're going. Rachel and I are quiet. Even our issues with authority do not stop us from doing so. Every now and then, Vernon'll take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while. I can't help thinking we might die a car accident from his wreckless driving.

"Shake 'em off… shake 'em off," he mutters whenever he does this. I cast a weird look at Harry and Rach. Yep, Vernon's lost it.

We don't even stop to eat or drink all day. I am certain all of our stomachs are growling.. By nightfall, Dudley's howling. He's never had such a bad day in his life. He's hungry, he's missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he's never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

Vernon stops at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Hallelujah. Harry, Rachel, Dudley, and I get out of the car, and jump for joy.

For me, Rach and Harry, we don't have to listen to Vernon going insane.

For Dudley, well, he gets to eat and do whatever he does best.

We share a room with three twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snores, while Harry and I sit at the window seal, staring down at the street, counting passing vehicles, wondering…. Would they be able to find us anymore? We really hope so, unless they really are stalkers. If so, we better be glad Vernon had a mental breakdown this morning.

We eat cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast in the morning. We just finish when the owner of the hotel comes over to our table.

"'Scuse me, but is any of you Mr. H.J. Ms. R.J. Potter or Mr. A.S. Prince? Only got about a 'undred of these at the front desk." They better not be stalkers, or I will kill somebody.

She holds up three of the letters so we can read the green ink addresses:

Mr. H.J. Potter

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

Ms. R.J. Potter

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

And then:

Mr. A.S. Prince

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

Harry, Rach, and I all make a grab for the letters but Vernon knocks our hands out of the way. The woman stares.

"I'll take them," says Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Petunia suggests timidly, hours later, but Vernon doesn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of us know. Harry and I roll our eyes, nutter. He drives into the middle of a forest, gets out, looks around, shakes his head, gets back in the car, and off we go again. The same thing happens in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and the top of a multilevel parking garage. Me, Rach and Harry get scared. And I thought I needed professional help.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he" Dudley asks timidly Petunia dully late afternoon. Vernon parks at the coast, locks us all inside the car, and disappears.

"Petunia, did you notice that the man you married HAS GONE COMPLETELY INSANE!" I bark.

She is actually civil, "I know," she says bitterly. I gape at her. How come I didn't get smacked upside the head? Well, I'm certainly not going to complain. Harry and Rachel crack up while Dudley sniffles.

It starts to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley snivels. I don't know why he's crying. I love the rain. I don't know why, I just always have.

"It's Monday," he tells his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television." And that explains

Monday. Hey, tomorrow is Harry's and Rachel's birthday. Of course, our birthdays are never exactly fun—last year, the Dursleys had given Harry a coat hanger and Rachel a dried up marker. This year they gave me a peanut. At least I got something edible, not that I ate it. I tried, but Rachel thought it might be laced with arsenic.

Uncle Vernon is back and he is smiling. He's also carrying a long, thin package and doesn't answer Petunia when she asked what he'd bought. We all look at each other wide-eyed. Somebody call the Police.

"Found the perfect place!" he says. "Come on! Everyone out!"

We do, and it's very cold outside the car. I'm shivering like crazy. My temprature's dropping fast. Of all the weird symptoms I could've got why did I have to be cold-blooded? Uncle Vernon's pointing at what looks like a huge rock way out in the ocean. Perched on top of the rock is the most miserable looking little shack you could imagine. One thing is certain, there is no television there or heat. I'm gonna die of hypothermia. Die at eleven years old. What a life… Being tortured by the Dursley's for ten of them, or so they say. I still think we got kidnapped.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" says Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. Oh yay!... Not, "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"

A toothless old man comes ambling up to us, pointing with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-grey water below them.

"I've already got us some rations," says Vernon, "so all aboard!"

Harry, Rachel, and I exchange disbelieving looks, but decide it's best not to argue and climb into the boat. I stopped being cold at once when the ocean water splashed on me. "This water's like bath water," I sigh sliding down into it. I feel like I've just slid into a Jacuzzi.

"Y-you're mad," Rachel yells over the waves.

"It's f-freezing," Harry shivers. Must be the water thing. I'm oblivious to water temperature now. _Great_. After what seemed like hours, we reach the rock, where Vernon, slipping and sliding, leads the way to the broken-down house.

The inside's horrible; it smells strongly of seaweed, the wind whistles through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace is damp and empty. There were only two rooms. After I get dried off, I'm back to almost going into hypothermia.

Vernon's rations turn out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas. He tries to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoke and shrivel up. I'm shivering and I'm gonna die.

Vernon's in a very good mood. Obviously he thinks nobody stands a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Harry and I privately agree, though the thought doesn't cheer us up at all. Rachel is just steaming, she is looking murderous and doesn't say a word.

As night falls, the promised storm blows up around us. Spray from the high waves splatter the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattle the filthy windows. Petunia finds a few moldy blankets in the second room and makes up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon go off to the lumpy bed next door, and the three of us are left to find the softest bit of floor we could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm rages more and more ferociously as the night goes on. Harry and I shiver, huddled together, trying to find comfortable positions and keep warm. Harry tells me my eyes are red again which didn't surprise me in the least. I'm so cold my teeth are rattling and my lips are turning blue. Dudley's snores are drowned by the low rolls of thunder that starts near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which is dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, tells us Harry and Rachel will be eleven in ten minutes' time. We lay and watch their birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember it at all. They probably won't though.

Five minutes to go. We hear something creak outside. We hope the roof wasn't going to fall in, though we might be warmer if it does. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive will be so full of letters when we get back that we'd be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go. Is that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what is that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea? Needless to say, we're getting paranoid.

I finish up the birthday cake I've been drawing in the dirt on the floor. I draw them eleven candles each and grin up at both of them from my stomach. They return it.

One minute to go and the twins will be eleven. Thirty seconds… twenty… ten… tine—maybe we should wake Dudley up, just to annoy him—three… two…

"Happy birthday bro and sis," I tell them.

One…

BOOM.

The whole shack shakes and trembles and we bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone is outside, knocking to come in. "Crap," I mutter.

A**.N./ So what'd you guys think? I'd love some feedback on my writing. Is it written well? Do I need to start adding more detail?**

**Also, Harry will be a little smarter and more mature in this story because he feels he has to keep Rachel and Andrew out of trouble, kind of like what Remus did with James and Sirius, but not quite the same. **

**He's not going to be on the level of Hermione or anything, but a little more intelligent.**

**Here's your daily dose of non-mainstream music.**

**I'm from the U.S. so it might be mainstream in like Canada or something, at least I think the Hedley and Marianas Trench is. Canada has awesome music minus Justin Bieber. He's okay I just don't like him as much as the others.**

**Pop: Take You to Rio- Ester Dean (I thought a man sung this song at first O.o)**

**Christian Rap: No Limits- PRo (Derek Minor)**

**Rock: Invincible – Hedley**

**Check Yes Juliet- We the Kings (Really check this one out!) **

**Rap: Dreadlocks- The Murs**

**Next Update (From Friday- Monday whenever I feel like posting again)**

**I need to be able to beta for a friend :p**


	4. Chapter Three: Identity Crisis

**A/N: Right, Here's Chapter Three. **

**Fun Fact that has absolutely nothing to do with Harry Potter or writing in any way: Did you know in the U.S. you can't say tits on the radio, but you can say the A word? How does that even make Sense?**

**Anyway, Enjoy chapter three: I really hope you like it :D**

Chapter 3: Identity Crisis

BOOM. They knock again. Dudley jerks awake.

"Where's the cannon?" he says stupidly. He must've been dreaming.

"Should we get the door?" I ask Harry.

"Are you mad?" Rachel cuts in.

I shrug, "I did pass out because a snake brushed my leg."

"True," Rach reasons.

There is a crash behind us, and Vernon comes skidding into the room holding a rifle. ("You _are_ insane!" I yell.) Now I know exactly what was in that long thin package. We should've called 911, but _nobody l_istens to the freak of nature.

The gun goes off—with a BOOM.

"ARGHHH!" I shout as a bullet whizzed past my head. "What was that for?!"

"YOU NUTTER!" Harry shouts.

"You could've killed him!" Rachel shrieks horrified.

"P-PE-PETUNIA HIS EYES ARE RED!"

"EXUSE ME, THERE ARE MORE PRESSING MATTERS AT THE MOMENT!" I roar about ready to take Vernon's head off. Seriously who shoots a rifle at an eleven year old?!

BOOM.

"W-who's there?" shouts Vernon ignoring me, but stepping away from me at the same time, "I-I warn you—I'm armed."

There's a pause—and then—

SMASH!

The door's hit with so much force that it swings clean off its hinges and lands flat on the floor with a deafening crash. "Whoa," Harry panics jumping backward.

A giant of a man stands in the middle of the doorway. His face's almost hidden beneath a long shaggy mane of hair and a long wild tangly beard, but you can make out his eyes. They glint like black beetles under the mass of hair.

The giant squeezes into the hut, stooping so his head brushes the ceiling. He bends down, picks up the door, and fits it back into the frame. The noise from the storm drops a little. He turns to look at us all. Rachel grabs hold of both of us. This is the first time I've seen her horrified about anything really.

"Sorry 'bout that," he says, "Couldn't make us a cup o' tea could yeh? It's not been an easy journey…"

He strides over to the sofa where Dudley sits frozen with fear. "Budge up yeh great lump," says the stranger.

Dudley squeaks and runs to hide behind his mom who's crouching, terrified, behind Vernon. The stranger doesn't seem like he's been stalking us. Better yet, he seems friendly if you can believe that.

"Well, there's Harry!" says the giant, his eyes crinkled. I grab Harry's shoulder," Last time I saw yeh, you was only a baby, all three of yeh," he says with a glance my way. Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh have yer mum's eyes.

"Ah, Rachel," he says, "You look a lot like your mum, not a thing like your dad,"

"And you must be Andrew," he tells me and my eyes go wide, "Yer eyes are bright blue like yer mum's. Yeh got yer dad's height everything else really," he snickers, "Good thing you didn't get his nose though."

I am glad my eyes were back to normal, but I'm so cold, sure my lips are still blue. Ha, my dad has a horrible nose. I've got my mom's eyes. I'm relieved someone will tell us something about our parents. We do deserve to know.

Vernon makes funny a rasping noise.

"I demand that you leave at once, sir!" he says. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Dry up, Dursley, yeh great prune," says the giant; he reaches over the back of the sofa, jerks the gun out of Vernon's hands, bends it into a knot as easily as if it's made of rubber, and throws it into a corner of the room.

Our jaws drop to the floor.

Vernon makes another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on.

"Anyway—Harry, Rachel," says the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys as we watch him in amazement, "a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here— Afraid I mighta sat on them at some point, but it'll taste fine, just the same."

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulls out two slightly squashed boxes. They open it with trembling fingers. Inside each of them are large, sticky chocolate cakes; one with Happee Birthdae Harry written on it in green icing, and the other has Happee Birthdae Rachel on the other.

I shiver from the cold.

"And Andrew," the giant continues, turning to me. "I know it's a little late, but I figured I'd bring yeh somethin' anyways. Happy late birthday." He pulls out another box and hands it to me. Inside was another chocolate cake that said Happee Late Birthdae Andrew written on it in blue icing.

_He got me a cake and I can actually eat it without fearing I'll die from it? I love this guy already!_

We all look up at the giant, "Thanks," we say together.

The giant smiles kindly down at us and says, "Don't mention it."

"Sorry," says Rachel, "but who are you?" she quizzes to the giant.

"Yeah," I say, "we kinda don't know you are, and you did break in here so…."

Harry smacks both of us upside the heads, "Seriously, you two?"

"Ow," we say rubbing our heads.

The giant grins, "Rubeus Hagrid," he tells us, "Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

He holds out a giant hand that we all three shake, although, he shakes our entire arms "N-nice to meet you," I say, my teeth chattering.

He throws his black overcoat at me, "That should help," he says kindly. I nod my thanks, "Now how 'bout that tea eh?" he says rubbing his hands together, "I'd not say no to summat stronger, if yeh've got that too, mind."

His eyes fall on the empty grate with the shriveled chip bags in it and he snorts. He bends down over the fireplace, he points a pink umbrella toward it, and when he draws back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. "Whoa," Rachel says smiling at him. "You can control fire? That's awesome! Andrew can control water, you know."

I figure the umbrella's some sort of lighter. It fills the whole damp hut with flickering light and I can feel the warmth wash over me as though I'd sunk into a hot bath. The three of us put our hands out to get them warm.

The giant chuckles, "Must be your element, Andrew," he says, "I just made a fire; I can't control it."

"Element?" I ask.

"Yeah," says, "you can control the element o' water."

My eyes go wide, "Wicked!" I do have water powers. I haven't been going mad!

Rubeus Hagrid lets out a laugh before he sets back down on the sofa, which sags under his weight, and begins taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat I hand him no longer needing it: a copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he takes a swig from before starting to make tea. Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. My stomach grumbles. Nobody says a thing while the giant's working. As the giant slides the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgets a little. Then, Vernon says sharply, "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley."

Rubeus chuckles darkly.

"Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don' worry," he says.

He passes the sausages to the both of us. We are so hungry that we've never tasted anything so good, but we still couldn't take their eyes off Hagrid. Finally, as nobody seemed to explain anything, Harry says, "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are."

The giant chuckles at him, takes a gulp of tea, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Call me Hagrid," he says, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm the Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts—yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course."

"Er—no," we say uneasily. Sounds like a slaughter house. But I don't say anything.

Hagrid looks shocked.

"Sorry," we all say quickly, eyes glued to the ground.

"Sorry?" barks Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrink back into the shadows. "It's them who should be sorry! I know yeh weren't gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?"

"All what?" asks Harry.

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thunders. "Now wait jus' one second!"

He had leaps to his feet. In his anger he seems to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys are cowering against the wall.

"Do you mean ter tell me," he growls at the Dursleys, "that these children—Harry, Rachel and Andrew!—know nothin' abou'—about ANYTHING?" Tell me about it. All the crap that goes on around us.

"I know some things," Harry says defensively. "I can, you know, do math and stuff." I shrug, "I can fight."

"And I can pick locks," says Rachel evilly.

But Hagrid simply waves his hand and says, "About our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents' world."

"What world?" I question afraid where this conversation is going.

Hagrid looks as if he was going to explode. It's scary.

"DURSLEY!" he booms.

Me and Rachel take one look at each other and take a step back.

Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispers something that sounded like "Mimblewimble." Hagrid stares wildly at all of us.

"But yeh must know about yer mum and dad," he said. "I mean, They're famous. Yer famous. And so are yers, Andrew, but only yer mom."

"What?!" I ask. I think I heard something wrong.

"What? My—my mum and dad weren't famous, were they? And Andrew's mom?" asks Harry.

Huh? Nope heard it just fine.

"Yeh don' know… yeh don' know…" Hagrid runs his fingers though his hair, fixing Harry and me with a bewildered stare. We exchange nervous looks.

"Yeh don' know what yeh are?" he says finally.

Vernon suddenly finds his voice.

"Stop!" he commands. "Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell them anything!"

"Tell us what?" Rachel asks eagerly.

Hagrid's furiously shocked. If looks would kill—well you get the idea.

"You never told them? Never told them what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from them all these years? ANDREW COULD'VE DIED!"

"WHAT?" I ask panicking. How am I even alive? Vernon almost killed me with a freakin' rifle, I almost died of hypothermia, and now they're telling me I could've died from something else. Told Harry and Rachel I had Cancer.

"Kept what from us?" asks Harry.

"Why could I have DIED?" I yell, my eyes no doubt going red again.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yells Vernon in a panic.

"WHY COULD I HAVE DIED DURSLEY!" I shout furiously.

Petunia gives a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," says Hagrid. "The boy could've died. Andrew, you're Mage, Rachel, you're a witch, and Harry you're a wizard," he says bluntly.

Did he just say wizard? Witch? That was a bit uncalled for. What is a Mage? Wait, the snake said something about a Mage according to Harry.

There's silence inside the hut. Only the sea and whistling wind can be heard.

"That was mean," says Rachel sadly.

"I'm a what?" Harry gasps.

"How does that mean I could've died?" I ask nervously, again afraid of where this is going.

" Rachel a witch is just a female version of a wizard. I meant no harm by it. You'll be thumpin' good ones I'd wager, once yeh trained up a bit."

He turns to me." Andrew, don' think I haven' heard from Dumbledore about yer recent visit ter the hospital. Whatever animal yer magic has binded ter is cold-blooded. A Mage is a really rare yet ancient type o' wizard who's magic binds ter an animal while in the womb. Cursed. It usually runs in families, but yeh can give the curse ter others if yer evil and do the ritual. Mages have a serious adaptation problem. Mages can' do wandlore, they acquire the accent o' where they are born which is why yeh still have an accent and they have terrible immune systems.

"They do have sort of a counter ter that though. Whatever element or elements their animal lives in or takes advantage of, they can learn ter control which as Rachel has told me is why yeh can control water.

Symptoms don' really start showing up until the person's around eleven. If yeh are a Mage and yer not told like you or yer a Muggle-born Mage yeh could die from the animal's weaknesses.

After a while, usually around fifteen or sixteen, yeh'll be able ter transform into the animal at will. Now it's not per say, a good thing. Yer cursed, which is why this conversation goes nowhere you three," he explains and I glance at Harry and Rachel. They look as confused as I am. "I reckon it's abou' time you'd read yer letters."

"Great, cursed now," I don't really know if this is a good thing or not yet.

"Listen, Andrew, it's looked down on a lot of people, but you're not a bad person, it's just not something you should tell to people you don't trust. It's not any worse than being Muggle-born. It's just some people are idiots and think that all Mages should be killed. They don' realize yeh can' control what yeh are."

Great Hagrid. How was that supposed to be any better? 'Some people are idiots and think that all Mages should be killed.' Uh-huh. Thanks for that.

How did Hagrid know about my body temperature problems, anyway? This guy's as nuts as Vernon. We are not wizards. I am not a Mage, Rachel is not a witch, and Harry is not a wizard, but my conscious seems to scream otherwise.

Look at the snake incident. Look at my eyes. Look at all the weird stuff that goes on around us. It does answer a lot of questions.

I stretch out my hand, fingers trembling, and take the yellowish letter addressed:

Mr. A.S. Prince

Hut On the Rock

The Floor

Ocean

And Harry does the same thing with the letter addressed to him.

"Hagrid, why does it say my last name's Prince? I thought it was Kross."

"Yer parents weren't married, and legally in the magical world, the last name of the child goes to the Father's side. Yer mom named yeh Kross though."

"So my dad's last name is Prince?" I ask.

"No, not exactly, yer case is…interesting."

"What do you mean?"

"Yer mom found a loophole, and that's all I'm sayin'. That's top secret that is."

"How'd she find a loophole?" Rachel and I ask together.

"I told yeh I can't say."

"Fine," I sigh, and I go back to reading my letter.

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY**

**Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE**

**(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)**

**Dear Mr. Kross (Prince),**

**We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. We are bringing in a tutor for your so-called curse. It's ridiculous they think you're cursed. You're just different.**

_Well that was unprofessional, but kind of funny. _

"So Hagrid, why do people think that Mages are cursed besides the different kind of magic?" I ask in reaction to what the person had said.

He doesn't look me in the eye, "Oh…er… Mages have been known ter kind o' bad when they near their first transformation. Their animal instincts take over, and they've been known ter…uh…kill people."

"WHAT?" Rachel, Harry and I yell at once.

"Well, that only happens if you don't get yer emotions and powers under control. It's what Hogwarts is for."

We all go silent.

I start breathing hard. _What if I hurt someone? What if I lose control and end up becoming killing someone? _

I shake the thought from my mind and try to focus back on my letter. I'm not evil and someone's not going to end up dead because of me.

**Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. Yours sincerely,**

**Minerva McGonagall,**

**Deputy Headmistress**

More info, more questions. What in the world does await your owl mean?

Harry's done reading his now. He's the first person to say something, "What does it mean, they await my owl?"

The room starts to spin, "All this info, and that's the first question you ask?" I ask wearily as I crash onto the couch feeling like I'm gonna hurl once again. What if I'm evil, Harry you git. There's a lot more serious stuff we need to ask.

"Seriously," says Rachel sitting down looking dazed.

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," says Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulls an owl—a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl—a long quill, and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth he scribbles a note that I couldn't read from where I was.

Hagrid rolls up the note, gives it to the owl, which clamps it in its beak, goes to the door, and throws the owl out into the storm. Then he comes back and sits down next to me as though this is as normal as talking on the telephone.

He claps me on the back, "Yer eyes er red," he says as if it's something to be happy about. I roll my eyes, "It's good, gives yeh a clue as to what animal yeh've binded yer magic to."

_Or maybe they're red because sometime in the future I'm going to become a psychopathic killer, but that's just me Hagrid._

"The only animal known to man with red eyes is a werewolf. Even if they did exist, I know I don't go all crazy on the full moon," I say skeptically.

"Oh they exist alright, I know one, except yer not infected with Lycanthropy so it's definitely another animal."

"Yeah," I say, "Plus I'm cold-blooded lucky me," I say, my voice bleeding with sarcasm.

"Yeh'll survive." he tells me , "Where was I?", but at that moment, Vernon, still ashen-faced but looking very angry, moves into the fire-light.

"They're not going," he says.

Hagrid grunts.

"I'd like to see a great Muggle like you stop them," he says.

"The dog?" I Rachel asks.

"A what?" Harry asks.

Hagrid swats at us, "Non-magic folk, and it's yer three's bad luck that yeh ended up with the worst o' em."

"We swore when we took them in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," says Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of them! Wizard, Witch, and Mage indeed!"

"You knew! You knew all this time, and you never told us!" Harry shouts, his fists clenched at his side. He is breathing heavily. It's a bit scary…I've never seen him this ticked off before.

"Knew!" Petunia shrieks suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my perfect sister being who she was. Mother and father were so proud the day she got her letter. We have a witch in the family. Isn't it wonderful? I was the only one who saw her for what she was—a freak! And then she met that Potter and then she had you two and I knew you'd be the same, just as strange, just as abnormal," she points at me, "And you, your mum went out and got drunk with your father. A one night stand only because he was drunk and had no clue what was going on. YOUR MUM WAS A WHORE! Then, that night she left you with her cousin that _Potter _and my freak of a sister, to go partying with her boyfriend of the week, and then if you please they all got themselves blown up, and we got landed with you. And don't even get me started on what kind of freak your father was and still is today. He's a bloody coward! He wouldn't take you for fear that he'd get blown up with them all!"

Harry goes white in the face, "BLOWN UP!" Harry roars, "YOU TOLD US OUR PARENTS DIED IN A CAR CRASH!"

"A CAR CRASH!," Hagrid yells furiously, "A CAR CRASH KILLS LILY AND JAMES POTTER! IT'S AN OUTRAGE! IT'S A SCANDAL!"

"Wh-why did they get blown up? What happened-th-that night? Was it like a terrorist attack or something?" Rachel asks Hagrid timidly.

"I never expected this," he says, in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, kids, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh - but someone's gotta - yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'."

He throws the Dursleys a dirty look.

"So let's get it over with then," I say. I'm growing really weary of this, learning I'm a Mage, Harry is a wizard, Rach is a witch, and I could've died, and Petunia insulting my parents so bad that it seems to be accurate, because even Petunia can't lie that well. We did suspect something was up with that car crash story in the first place, and it only stuck, because the truth is so far-fetched, nobody in their right minds would believe it.

"Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh - mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it..."

He sits down, stares into the fire for a few seconds, and then says, "It begins, I suppose, with - with a person called - but it's incredible yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows -"

"Who? " asks Harry, and at the same time I ask, "What's his name?"

"Well - I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."

"Why not?" Rachel asks.

"Gulpin' gargoyles, guys, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went... bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was..."

Hagrid gulps, but no words come out.

"Could you write it down?" Harry suggests.

"Nah -can't spell it. All right - Voldemort." Hagrid shudders. "Don' make me say it again. Anyway, this - this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too - some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark times, Harry. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches... terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him - an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway."

"Guy seems like a right git," I comment.

"Didn't we tell you idiot is a better word," says Rachel giggling.

He nods his head, "Now, yer mums an' dads were as good a witches an' wizards as I ever knew. Harry, Rachel yer mom was Head Girl, and yer dad, well he was a trouble maker, and he was a star Chaser on the school team! Andrew, yer mom was a Chaser on the American team, but once you were born, she transferred back to her homeland team, Ireland to be with her love interest at the time, really she went professional, and she was a good person no matter what things yeh hear and yer dad, he's a good person, but he was swayed by You-Know-Who and became his follower, but Dumbledore eventually turned him back.

"What's a chaser, Drew?" Harry whispers in my ear.

"I dunno, but it sounds like a fancy name for a cornerback or something."

"Nah, more like a forward for _real_ football," says Rachel. That's Rach for you. She loves her soccer.

"Hagrid, what's my dad's name?" I ask curiously.

He sighs, "I'm definitely not the person ter tell yeh that. He will tell yeh when he's ready. He blames himself for the whole mess. Not that it was his fault, he didn't even know yeh were his son till the night yeh were born.

"Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em… maybe he just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where yeh and yer parents, you two, was all living while Susan Kross, your mom, Andrew was out drinking with her boyfriend. I'm not gonna try to sprinkle it for yeh—Sorry— Harry and Rachel's parents was baby sittin' yeh—yer dad was with Dumbledore, Andrew—on Halloween ten years ago. You three was just a year old. He came ter the house an'—an'—"

It really was true, and it looks like my dad was deceived by Voldemort. I need to find him. Maybe then, I can tell him he doesn't have to feel guilty about his past. I'm almost certain that's why he was never in my life, because he made that mistake. At least, that's how I would feel.

Hagrid suddenly pulls out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blows his nose with a sound like a foghorn.

"Sorry," he says. "But it's that sad—knew yer parents, Harry, Rachel, and yes Andrew, yer mom. She just had a relationship problem. Still see yer dad a lot."

"Sure," I say sarcastically. Hagrid gives me a sympathetic smile.

"You-Know-Who killed yer parents, Harry, Rach, and yer mum, Andrew. An' then—an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing—he tried to kill you three, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin' by then. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead, Harry or by yer ear Rachel? Those aren't no ordinary cuts. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh—took care of yer mums an' dad an' yer house, even—but it didn't work on you three, an' that's why yer famous. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age—the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts—an' you were only babies, an' you lived."

Famous for something we can't even remember? I sigh and shake my head looking down at my feet. Our lives are messed up.

Just then, something very painful starts in my mind. As Hagrid's story comes to a close, I see again the blinding flash of green light that used to haunt our dreams, more clearly than I've had ever remembered it before—and I remember something else, for the first time in my life: a high, cold, cruel laugh.

I shudder._ I'm not going to end up like Voldemort! It's not going to happen AT all._

Hagrid watches us sadly.

Another thought comes to my mind, "Hagrid," I say thinking about the question I'm about to ask. I'm kinda scared of what the answers gonna be, "You say that Harry and Rach got their scars from being hit by a Dark curse. But you also said that he tried to kill all of us. So why don't I have one?"

"I guess that's just another part o' the myst'ry, we may never know." Hagrid shrugs. And he continues before I could say anything else. "I took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. I thought yeh were dead with their parents, Andrew, but you were just knocked out. Yer father was overjoyed when he found that you had a pulse. He was the one that found all three a yeh. But I brought yeh ter this lot… sorry 'bout that," he says stealing a look at them.

"Load of tosh," says Vernon. Harry and I jump; We almost forgot that the Dursleys were there. Vernon certainly seems to have got back his courage. He glares at Hagrid and his fists are clenched.

"Now, you listen here, brats," he snarls, ignoring the outraged look on Hagrid's face, "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured—and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion—asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types—just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end—"

I glare at Vernon, he doesn't look into my eyes, so I'd say my eyes are red again, but I don't care. He has no right to say that he didn't even know them. Harry has his hand on my shoulder this time, as if to say, "You have to calm down," but he has his eyes narrowed at Vernon, with his jaw jumping up and down and his free fist clenched at his side. Rach just looks like she's about to pounce.

Hagrid, seeing this, leaps from the couch, and draws a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing this at Vernon like a sword or an AK-47, he growls, "I'm warning you, Dursley—I'm warning you—one more word…"

In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant, Vernon's courage fails again; he flattens himself against the wall (as much as possible for him anyways) and shuts up.

"That's better," says Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the couch, which this time sags right down to the floor.

"But what happened to Vol—sorry—I mean, You-Know-Who?" Harry asks. I was wondering that one as well.

"Good question, Harry. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see… he was getting' more an' more powerful—why'd he go?

"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they could've done if he was comin' back.

"Most of reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. But one thing's very certain. Somethin' about you finished him that night. there was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on—I dunno what it was, no one does—but somethin' about you stumped him, all right."

Hagrid looks at us with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, and I feel happier than I have in a while. Finally everything's falling into place. Everything I've ever wondered about has pretty much now been answered, and unlike we previously thought, Harry and Rachel aren't freaks. I am though. I'm rare, and could die if I don't get things around me under control.

"Hagrid," Harry says quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think I can be a wizard."

My eyes widen, and I turn to him in disbelief, "You cannot be serious, Harry. You set a bloody Boa Constrictor on Dudley and Piers," I shudder at thought of it, "And remember when she," I point at his aunt, "Gave you that horrible haircut, and it grew back overnight? Or when she tried to shove that horrible orange sweater on you and it shrunk to the size of a finger puppet, or my wall incident," I shudder, "It's the only thing that makes sense. Not to mention, Rach almost killed that girl who used pick on her, you kn—"

"I didn't almost kill her!" squeaks Rachel appalled, "I didn't even want to, I just broke her leg."

I snort.

Harry looks into the fire and I can tell he's deep in thought. I chuckle at him, "And you cannot tell me these are normal," I say pointing to my red eyes.

Harry looks back at Hagrid, smiling. Hagrid's beaming at us.

"See?" says Hagrid. "Harry Potter, not a wizard—you wait, you, Rachel, and Andrew'll be famous at Hogwarts."

But Vernon's not going down without a fight because I notice him, and he's steaming with anger.

"Haven't I told you they're not going" he hisses. "They're going to Stonewall High and they'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and they need all sorts of rubbish—spell books and the twins need wands and—"

"If they want ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop them," growls Hagrid. "Stop Lily an' James Potter's twins an' their "adopted" one from goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. Their names've been down ever since they was born. They're off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and they won't know themselves. They'll be with youngsters of their own sort, fer a change, and they'll be under the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts ever had-Albus Dumbled—"

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH THEM MAGIC TRICKS!" yells Vernon.

Hagrid's fuming. Well, Vernon's in trouble…He should really learn when to keep his mouth shut.

Hagrid seizes his umbrella and whirls it over his head. "NEVER—" he thunders, "—INSULT—ALBUS—DUMBLEDORE—IN—FRONT—OF—ME!"

He brings the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley—there was a flash of purple light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley's dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. Harry, Rach, and I see a curly pink pig's tail sticking out of the back of Dudley's pants.

Vernon roars. Pulling Petunia and Dudley into the other room, he casts one last terrified look at Hagrid and slams the door behind them.

We just look at each other—maybe it was the stress of the day or maybe it was just that funny—but we burst into hysterical laughter. (I personally think it was the second one, but that's just me.)

Hagrid chuckles a bit, looks down at his umbrella, and strokes his beard.

"Shouldn'ta lost my temper," he says, not sounding the least bit regretful, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do."

Harry covers his mouth to stifle more laughter.

Rachel howls with laughter.

"Hagrid, I think you may just be right," I tell him laughing.

Hagrid casts a sideways look, smiling at us under his bushy eyebrows.

"Be grateful it yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he said. "I'm—er—not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff—one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job—"

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" I ask curiously as Harry nods.

"Oh, well—I was at Hogwarts myself, but I—er—got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore. Great man."

"Why were you expelled?" I ask and Rachel smacks me upside the head.

"Ow! What was that for?" I ask rubbing the back of my head.

"For not thinking…" Rachel replies.

"So says the girl who asked Hagrid who he was."

"Shut it, I was curious."

"So was I," I retort.

"Children quiet," says Harry smirking.

"It's getting' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," says Hagrid loudly. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' all that."

He takes off his thick black coat and throws it on us.

"You can kip under that," he says. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' the pockets."

We all gawk.

**Alright, Now that You All Know the Gist of the Mage, Do you Like it? Do I Need to Do a Better Job explaining it? PM or Review if you have any questions:p**

**More info is on its way in the next chapter, when you find what animal he has binded to. It's pretty funny.**

** Also I'd really appreciate if you'd leave a comment regarding whether or not you are enjoying the story. I know a few are, but it's great to have a rough estimate.**

Until Next time:

Rock

Evil- Project 86

Pop

Still Breathing- Mayday Parade

Christian Rap

Angels- KB

Hip-Hop

Forever Now- Ne-Yo


	5. Chapters 4, 5, and 6

AN SO I'M SO SORRY ABOUT THE LATE UPDATE. I GOT GROUNDED. WHAT CAN I SAY? MOMS ARE WAYYY TOO OVERPROTECTIVE AND I DON'T LIKE IT! THEN AGAIN I'M NEVER HAVING KIDS IF I CAN'T HELP IT SO I CAN'T JUDGE. I HOPE THREE CHAPTERS IS ENOUGH OF AN APOLOGY FOR NOT BEING ABLE TO UPDATE.

ALSO IM PUTTING UP POLLS I KIND OF THINK THIS IS A LITTLE EARLY TO BE DOING THAT BUT OH WELL. HOW THIS STORY TURNS OUT IS ALL ON YOU GUYS.

CHAPTER 4: Really? Really? I Was Hoping For a Wolf and I Get _This?_

I wake up when Harry mumbles, "Alright, I'm getting up."

Harry sets up and Hagrid's heavy coats falls off the three of us. I'm so happy I sit up immediately and grin at Harry. "You thought it was a dream, didn't you?" Rachel asks him cheerfully sitting up. Her red hair is everywhere. She's got a terrible case of bed head.

I watch Harry scramble to his feet, looking so happy you'd think he'd just won the lotto. He goes straight to the window and jerks it open. An owl swoops in and drops the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who doesn't wake up. The owl the flutters onto the floor and begins to attack Hagrid's coat. I jump to my feet to watch it. Must be trying to get one of the mice, and I don't want to miss it.

"Don't do that," Harry orders at the owl.

Harry tries to wave the owl out of the way, but it snaps its beak fiercely at him and carries on savaging the coat.

"Don't tell the owl what to do, he might eat one of the mice and I wanna see it," I tell Harry ecstatically.

He rolls his eyes at me and cracks a smile. "You're acting like Rachel."

"Hey," she says in a mockingly offensive tone.

"Hagrid!" said Harry loudly. "There's an owl—"

"Pay him," Hagrid grunts into the sofa.

"What?"

"He wants payin' fer deliverin' the paper. Look in the pockets."

"Pssh," I say snapping my fingers disappointedly, "I wanted to see a mouse get eaten."

Harry chuckles.

Hagrid starts to laugh as Harry starts to search his large mall of a coat. Hagrid's coat seems to be made of nothing but pockets because I watch Harry pull out a ton of keys, slug pellets, balls of string, those little peppermint circle things, teabags…and finally, he pulls out a handful of strange-looking coins.

"Man, Hagrid, you really need to clean that thing out," I say staring down at his coat.

"Give him five Knuts," says Hagrid sleepily.

"What?" I ask wondering if he'd had a bit too much to drink the night before.

"The little bronze ones."

Harry counts out five little bronze coins, and the owl holds out his leg so he could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then he flies off through the open window.

Hagrid yawns loudly, sets up, and stretches.

"Best be off guys, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer stuff fer school."

"Um—Hagrid?" Harry questions turning over one of the strange coins.

"Mm?" replies Hagrid, who's pulling one of his huge boots.

"We haven't got any money—and you heard Uncle Vernon last night…. He won't pay for us to go and learn magic."

"Don't worry about that," says Hagrid, standing up and scratching his head. "D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?"

"But if their house was destroyed—" starts Rachel.

"They didn' keep their gold in the house, girl! Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank. Have a sausage, they're not bad cold—an' I wouldn' say know to a bit o' yer birthday cake, neither."

"Wizards have banks?" Harry asks.

"Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."

My jaw drops.

"Goblins?" I ask astounded.

Hagrid stares awkwardly, "Yeah—so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Drew. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe—'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew himself up proudly. "He usually get me ter do important stuff fer him. fetchin' you—getting' things from Gringotts—knows he can trust me, see.

"Got everythin'? Come on, then," says Hagrid.

We follow Hagrid out onto the rock. The sky's almost clear now and the ocean gleams in the sunlight. The boat Vernon had rented is still there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm.

"How did you get here?" Harry asks, looking around for another boat.

"Flew," answers Hagrid.

"Flew?" we all ask together.

"Yeah—but we'll go back in this. Not s'pposed ter use magic now I've got yeh."

I was looking forward to getting back in the bath water, but by the look on Harry's face, he's not too enthused at the idea. We settle into it. Harry looks as if he's still trying to imagine Hagrid flying.

Rachel is looking dead, like really tired.

"Seems a shame ter row, though," says Hagrid, giving us another of his sideways looks. "If I was ter—er—speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin' it at Hogwarts?"

"Of course not," says Harry, obviously eager to see more magic. Hagrid pulls out the pink umbrella again, taps it twice on the side of the boat, and we speed off toward land.

"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" I ask. "People rob banks all the time, what's so special about this one?"

"Well- Spells—enchantments," says Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke. "They say there's dragons guardin' the high-security vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way—Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger tryin' ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat."

I'm deep in thought about this looking out toward the ocean, Harry looks as if he's getting sea sick, and Hagrid reads his newspaper, the Daily Prophet. We have learned from Vernon that people liked to be left alone while they did this, but it was very difficult; we've never had so many questions in our life.

"Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," Hagrid mutters, turning the page.

"There's a Ministry of Magic?" asks Harry, looking over at Hagrid.

"'Course," says Hagrid, smiling at him. "They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, o' course, but he'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin' fer advice."

"But what does a Ministry of Magic do?" Harry asks.

"Well, their main job is to keep if from the Muggles that there's still witches an' wizards up an' down the country."

"Why?" I ask snapping out of it.

"Why? Blimey, Drew, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we're best left alone."

I honestly disagree, Wizards, Witches, and Mages could keep a lot of the murders and rapes from the Muggle community. It'd be a much better world in my opinion.

"I think we should all have one government," says Rach yawning, "it'd be much easier without all the secrecy of the world."

"I disagree," says Hagrid indifferently, "Too much legal work."

At this moment, the boat bumps gently into the harbor wall. Hagrid folds up his newspaper, and we clamber up the stone steps onto the street.

Passersby stare a lot at Hagrid as we walk through the little town to the station. I don't blame them. Not only is Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, he keeps pointing at perfectly normal things like parking meters and saying loudly, "See that, guys? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?" It's takes all I have not to laugh at him.

"Hagrid," says Harry, panting a bit as we run to keep up, "did you say there are dragons at Gringotts?"

"Well, so they say," says Hagrid. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon."

"What?!" I say disbelievingly. That doesn't sound like a very good idea.

"Wanted one ever since I was a kid—here we go." I shake my head with a hint of a smile.

"Do you know where I could get one?!" Rachel asks Hagrid ecstatically.

Hagrid looks at her and says, "Yeh'd have teh work with dragons after Hogwarts."

"Meh," she says swatting her hand at us, "too much work."

We reach the station. There's a train to London in five minutes' time. Hagrid, who doesn't understand "Muggle money," as he calls it, gives the bills to Harry so he can buy our tickets.

People stare more than ever on the train. Hagrid takes up two seats and sets knitting what looks like a canary-yellow circus tent.

"Still got yer letters?" he asks us as he counts stitches.

We take our letters out of our pockets.

"Good," says Hagrid. "There's a list there of everything yeh need."

We unfold a second piece of paper we hadn't noticed the night before and we

read them to ourselves.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY (MAGE)

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black) (House crest will appear after sorting)

2. Three Hogwarts ties (Will change color after sorting)

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please not that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS (MAGE)

All Mage students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Art of Combat (grade 1) by Wulfrick Cornice

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

Physical Defence: A Mage's Guide to Self- Protection by Quentin Trimble

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self- Protection by Quentin Trimble

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllinda Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Aresenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

Finding Your Inner Animal by Warren Kane

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 gauntlet or pen sword (Iron or higher, best is Obsidian)

1 caldron (pewter standard size 2)

1 set of glass or crystal phials

1 telescope set

1 set of brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.

I glance over at Harry's and Rachel's, "Hagrid, why are mine and the twin's lists different?" I ask him. Harry and Rachel have different books on his list than I do.

"Well, I told yeh Andrew, Mages can't do wandlore," Hagrid replies chuckling a bit, and Harry smiles.

"Oh, that's bad isn't it?"

Hagrid chuckles again, "You won't be saying that when your powers fully develop. Yeh're really powerful. Yeh can already control water and that's somethin' most can' do easily. So yeh might just shift early if yer lucky. Plus you'll be able to use that animal's powers outside yer shifts. Yeh love it."

"Shifts?"

"When yeh turn in ter yer animal o' course. When yer around fifteen, you'll be able teh shift at will."

_If I don't kill someone first._

"But Hagrid," says Harry, "Can we buy all this in London?" He asks.

"If yeh know where to go," says Hagrid looking down at us.

"And where is that exactly?" Rachel asks.

"Yeh'll see," says Hagrid.

We've never been to London before. Although, Hagrid seems to know where he was going, he's definitely not used to getting there in the normal way. He gets stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground, and complains loudly that the seats are too small and the trains are too slow. Harry, Rachel, and I are doing all we can not to crack up.

"I don't know how the Muggles manage without magic," he says as we climb a broken-down escalator that leads up to a bustling road lined with shops.

Hagrid's so huge that he parts the crowd easily; all we have to do is keep close behind him. We pass book shops and music stores, fancy burger joints and movie theatres, but nowhere that looks as if it can sell you a magic wand or a gauntlet sword whatever that means. This is just an ordinary street full of ordinary people. Could there really be piles of wizard gold buried miles beneath them? Are there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? Can't this not all be some huge joke that the Dursleys have cooked up? If I didn't know that I could shoot water out my hands, I might think so even though everything Hagrid has told us so far was unbelievable. We can't help trusting him.

"This is it," says Hagrid, coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

It's a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, we wouldn't have noticed it's there. The people hurrying by don't glance at it at all. Their eyes slide from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they can't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, I have the weirdest feeling that only Harry, Hagrid, Rach, and I can see it. Before I can mention this, Hagrid steers us inside.

For a famous place, it's very dark and shabby. A few old woman are sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them is smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat is talking to the old bartender, who's bald and looks like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stops when we walk in. Everyone seems to know Hagrid; they wave and smile at him, and the bartender reaches for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't, Tom, I'm on official Hogwarts business," says Hagrid, clapping his great hands on our shoulders, causing Harry's knees buckle, but mine don't.

"Good Lord," says the bartender, peering at Harry, Rachel, and me, "is this—can this be—?"

The leaky cauldron goes completely silent and still.

"Bless my soul," whispers the old bartender, "The Potter Twins and Andrew Prince… what an honor it is."

We all glance at each other wide-eyed again, and before we can realize what is happening, he hurries out from behind the bar, rushing toward us and seizes our hands, tears in his eyes.

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, Ms. Potter, Mr. Prince, welcome back."

We don't know what to say. Everyone's looking at us.. The old woman with the pipe is puffing on it without realizing it's already gone out. Hagrid's beaming. It's a bit creepy to say the least.

I'm able to get out that I actually go by Kross, but that's about it.

We barely have time to exchange glances before there's a huge scraping of chairs. The next moment, we find ourselves shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Mr. Kross, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand Ms. Potter—I'm all a flutter."

"Delighted, Harry, Rachel, Andrew, just can't tell you. Diggle's the name. Dedalus Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" says Harry, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement.

Rachel and I nod in agreement. "Yeah, you bowed to us once in a shop."

"They remember!" cries Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? They remember me!"

We shake hands again and again and again—Doris Crockford keeps coming back for more.

A pale young man makes his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes is twitching.

"Professor Quirrell!" says Hagrid. "Guys, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts," he glances at me, "It does require some wandlore, but you need to learn about the dark, so they put you in it and won't count the wand work against you." I nod.

"P-P-Potters and P-P-Prince," stammers Professor Quirrell, we put our hands out, but he doesn't take them, "c-can't t-tell you how p- pleased I am to meet you." He's a right coward, that one, and I've only just met him.

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?" asks Harry.

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," mutters Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potters, P-P-Prince?" He laughs nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looks terrified at the very thought of it.

But the others won't let Professor Quirrell keep us to himself. It takes almost ten minutes to get away from them all. I'm now scared we'll have to hire a body guard whenever we go into the Wizarding world. At last, Hagrid manages to make himself heard over the babble.

"Must get on - lots ter buy. Come on, you three."

Doris Crockford shakes our hands one last time, and Hagrid leads us through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there's nothing but a trash can and some weeds.

Hagrid grins at us.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you guys was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh - mind you, he's usually tremblin'." I roll my eyes. I knew it, he really is a coward. Why in the world is he teachin a defense class, then? I ask Harry and Rach this, and they just shrug obviously clueless.

"So he's always that nervous?" asks Harry.

"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some first hand experience… They say he met vampires in the Black Forest and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag—never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject—now, where's me umbrella?"

Vampires? Hags? Is every myth in history true? Hagrid, meanwhile, is counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.

"Three up… two across…" he mutters. "Right, stand back, you two."

He taps the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.

The brick he touches quivers—it wriggles—in the middle, a small hole appears—it grows wider and wider—a second later we are facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twists and turns out of sight.

"Welcome," says Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."

"Whoa," I muse. This is one of most amazing things I've ever seen in my life.

"Wow…" Harry breathes.

"Yeah," says Rachel taken aback.

He grins at our amazement. We step through the archway. We look quickly over our shoulders and see the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall.

The sun shines brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons—All Sizes—Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver—Self-Stirring—Collapsible, says a sign hanging over us.

"Can I go look around?" I ask.

"Yeah, you'll be needin' one and no," says Hagrid, " we gotta get yer money firs'."

A low, soft hooting comes from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium—Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of about our age have their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," we hear one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand—fastest ever—" There are shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments we've never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon…

"Gringotts," says Hagrid.

We reach a snowy while building that towers over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was—

"Yeah, that's a goblin," says Hagrid quietly as we walk up the white stone steps toward him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Harry and Rachel. He has a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry notices pointing down at them after he gets my attention, very long fingers and feet. He bows as we walk inside. Now we are facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors,

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

My eyes widen, "Dang!"

"Oh, my," Harry murmurs.

"Like I said, yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," says Hagrid.

A pair of goblins lead us through the silver doors and we are in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There are too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins are showing people in and out of these. Hagrid, Harry, Rachel, and I make for the counter.

"Morning," says Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr. and Ms. Potter and Mr. Andrew Prince's safes."

I feel like I'm having an identity crisis. Prince just sounds wrong to me.

"You have their key sir?"

"Got it here somewhere, Andrew yers requires yeh ter put a palm on the door o' it. Yer DNA will open it fer yeh," says Hagrid quickly, and he starts emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkles its nose. Harry, Rach, and I watch the goblin on our right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.

My jaw drops.

"Got it," says Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key.

The goblin looks at them closely.

"That seems to be in order."

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," says Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

The goblin reads the letter carefully.

"Very well," he says, handing it back to Hagrid. "I will have someone take you down to all three vaults. Griphook!"

Griphook is another goblin. Once Hagrid had crams all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, he, Harry, and I follow Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall.

"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Rachel asks.

"Really Sis?" Harry asks.

She back hands him in the gut.

"Can't tell yeh that," says Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."

They look at me confusedly and I shrug.

Griphook holds the door open for us. I have to admit I was surprised. Instead of marble, we step into a narrow stone passage way, lit with flaming torches. It's a bit creepy. It goes downward like a rollercoaster, it's even got tracks on the floor. Griphook whistles and it sounds kinda like Superman in the movies. Just then, a cart comes up like it's obediently following the whistle. It's beastly right? Rachel hops in ecstatically followed by Harry, Hagrid and Griphook, and then I realize-we've got to ride it.

I'm sure a disgusted look was plastered on my face. "Well, what are yeh waitin' for?" Hagrid asks, eyebrow raised like The Rock.

"Uh, er-um we have to ride that thing, don't we?" I ask, and the cart's looking more and more like a metal death trap by the second.

"Yes, don't be a bloody coward, get yer hind end into the cart," Hagrid barks impatiently. He gives me a scolding look, and I climb wearily into the death trap. This is gonna kill me. I grab both sides of the cart as tight as I can. The super glue is thankfully back, and I hear the twins snigger as we take off. The super glue takes away the mental panic a rollercoaster would send me into, and I am able to enjoy the ride- for a little while.

"Woohoo!" Rachel yells freely.

We hurtle through a maze of passages at first, so fast I couldn't even see which ways we were zipping. My eyes water from the wind, and before I know it, I'm leaning over the cart vomiting so hard I feel like my insides are shaking. I'm pretty sure I hear Harry, and Griphook chuckling, and even Hagrid is trying hard to stifle a laugh. Rachel's not hiding it. She just howls happily.

"Yeah, yeah, very funny," I croak, sending them into a fit of giggles. I glare at them as the cart keeps finding its way through the underground maze as we pass an underground lake where stalagmites and stalactites hang from the ceiling and floor, and the next thing I know Hagrid sends me a worried slash concerned look. It scares me and for some reason I started to panic. "Wh-what's wrong?" I croak again.

He points at my face, "Yer eyes just burned bright red. Don't let the goblin see yer a Mage."

Oops. "Okay."

"I never know," Harry calls to Hagrid over the noise of the car, "what the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"

"Stalagmite's got an 'm' in it," says Hagrid. "An' don' ask me questions just now, I think I'm gonna be as sick as Andrew."

"Stalactites hang tight to the ceiling," I say laughing. "Professor Berg asked me that question when he told me I was the laziest student he's ever taught. The guy hated me."

Harry laughs, "Andrew, he hated both of you and Lucinda Gage. You, Rachel, and her got kicked out of that class so many times it wasn't funny."

"It's not our fault he didn't have a sense of humor," Rachel tells him.

Harry sighs, "You guys made a stink bomb out of some chemicals, and wrote 'Berg needs some DO for his BO' on the black board."

"Bro, he smelt like he hadn't taken a shower in months," I say bluntly.

"That's beside the point."

"Wonder what happened to Lucinda after she moved; France was it? She was the only one who actually ever cared for us."

Rachel giggles, "Are you blind Andrew? She had a major crush on you."

"Yeah right, " I muse laughing. "Speaking of that, I wonder why he let ten year olds mess with chemicals…but then again he did get fired for it too."

"His fault not ours," says Rachel indifferently.

"You two never cease to amuse me," says Harry shaking his head.

When the cart stops at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid gets out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling. I bend over and lean on my knees, "Harry, Rachel," I say, "Are you two even human, how do you go on these things without getting sick?" I ask.

They shrug.

Griphook unlocks the door with Rachel and Harry's key. A lot of green smoke comes billowing out, and as it clears, they both gasp. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts."

"All yours," smiles Hagrid.

Hagrid and I help them pile some of it into two bags.

"The gold ones are Galleons," Hagrid explains. "Seventeen silver sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough. Right, that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh." He turns to Griphook. "Andrew's vault, now, please, and can we go more slowly?"

"One speed only," says Griphook.

I look up at Hagrid, "We're doomed."

Five minutes later, we arrive at my vault, but I jump out, and blow chunks onto the tracks. Hagrid chuckles and claps a hand on my back, "Get it all up, Andrew, get it all up."

"Maybe Petunia was onto something when she said you were a wimp," says Rachel.

"Yeah, yeah," I say.

"When you're done destroying my tracks, Mr. Kross, you can come over, and put your palm to the door."

"Okay," I say wearily, as I hobble over to it and smack it.

There's much more gold in my vault than Rach and Harry's vault including rubies and emeralds.

"Right, Andrew, that's your dad's vault with yer mom's inheritance too. He comes from an old wizardin' family," informs Hagrid. I nod after Harry and Rachel help me pile some of it into another bag. Hagrid turns to Griphook with a grin. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen."

Three vaults later, we stop at the vault.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen has no keyhole either.

"Stand back," says Griphook importantly. He stokes the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melts away.

"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," says Griphook.

"How often to you check to see if anyone's inside?" asks Harry curiously.

"About once every ten years," says Griphook with a rather nasty grin.

We gawk at each other.

"Ew," says Rach disgustedly.

Something really extraordinary has to be inside this top security vault. I'm sure of it, and the three lean forward eagerly, expecting to see fabulous jewels at the very least—but at first I think it's empty. Then we notice a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor. Hagrid picks it up and tucks it deep inside his coat.

"What is that, Hagrid?"

"I can't tell yeh that," he says

"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," says Hagrid.

"Me too," I say.

One wild cart ride later we stand blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. We don't know where to run first now that we have two bags full of money. We don't have to know how many Galleons there are to a pound to know that we are holding more money than we've ever had in our whole lives—more money than even Dudley's ever had.

"Might as well get yer uniform," says Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions. "Listen, guys, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts. Then, Andrew, you can go off on your own." He does still look a bit sick, so we enter Madam Malkin's shop by ourselves, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkin is a squat, smiling witch dressed all in a purplish color.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she says, when we start to speak. "Got the lot here—another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face is standing on a footstool while a second witch pins up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stands Harry on a stool next to him, then Rachel, and me on one next to her. She calls another two witches over to start on Harry and Rachel. She then slips a long robe over my head, and begins to pin it to the right length. "You don't look eleven," she says to me.

"So I've heard," I say.

"Hello," says the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yeah," the twins say in unison.

"My father's next door buying my books and Mother's up the street looking at wands," says the boy. He has a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully Father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

He acts a lot like Dudley.

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy goes on.

"No," says Harry.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," I say, wondering what in the world Quidditch is. Hagrid never really explained it.

"I do—Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my House, and I must say, I agree. Know what House you'll be in, yet?"

"No," says Rachel icily, I'm feeling more stupid by the minute. We exchange looks.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been—imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm," says Harry, obviously wishing he could add more to the conversation.

"I say, look at that man!" says the boy suddenly, nodding towards the front window. Hagrid is standing there, grinning at us and pointing at the four large ice creams to show he can't come in.

"That's Hagrid," says Harry, pleased to know something the boy didn't. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," says the boy. "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," I say. I am liking the boy less and less every second.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage—lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"I think he's brilliant," says Harry coldly.

"Do you?" says the boy with a slight sneer. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," says Rachel shortly.

"My mom too," I put in.

"Oh, sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that' what you mean, all of ours," I sneer.

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old Wizarding families. What's your surnames, anyway?"

But before we can answer, Madam Malkin says, "That's done, my dear," and I, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hop down from the footstool with Harry and Rachel.

I give my ice cream to Hagrid, "You can have it. I don't think my stomach can handle it after Gringotts," I say wearily. "I still don't see why Goblins can't know that I'm a Mage."

Hagrid sighs, "They're as looked down on and as hunted as vampires and werewolves," he says. "It's not a good thing. Some people believe that Mage's are sort o' a mix between the two. It doesn' really make sense, but aconite does make yeh weak as well just like a Werewolf. They think Werewolves and Mages are sort o' cousins. Goblins are no exception."

I don't want to kill people. I don't go wonky on the full moon. I couldn't be like a werewolf could I? I mean he did say I could end up killing people, but still it doesn't make sense to me. I'm eleven and a lot of people, not even including Voldemort, want me dead,"Can I go explore the alley while you three eat?" I ask. I wouldn't do it, but I need some time to think.

"Sure," he says.

"Okay," I reply, "See you Bro, Sis, Hagrid."

I walk off and get some quills and paper not parchment. Wow, these people need to stop living in the Middle Ages. Can't I just use a pen instead?

Once I leave there, I go get my books at a shop called Flourish and Blotts. Apparently, none of the Mage books I need are in the shop. I'll have to go find Hagrid to get them all. I'm heading toward the register when I bump into a girl sending her books flying, and with a thunk they land on the ground along with her.

"Oops, I'm sorry," I say holding out a hand to help her up. I really should watch where I'm going.

"It's okay," she says glancing up at me as I hoister her up. I bend down to help her pick her books up feeling clumsier by the minute and we knock heads. I don't see anything but her bushy brown hair for a split second.

"Ow," we both say holding our heads. We laugh nervously. This is awkward. She looks up into my eyes. Her eyes are brown as well.

"Are you going to Hogwarts too?" I ask.

She nods, "Mum and Dad are getting my uniform and quills right now, apparently you guys don't use pencils."

"I know right, it's really weird."

"Oh," she says perking up, "Are you Muggle-born too?"

I shake my head, "No but I was raised by some of them. They aren't very friendly, are they?"

"Some of them, no, but my parents are quite nice. I mean, okay, dad's always been a bit off, but mum's alright. They're dentists." She hesitates for a minute, "Um if you don't mind me asking, why aren't you going to an American school?"

"I just spent the first year of my life there, according to Hagrid, but I never got rid of the accent. It's odd."

Her expression suddenly becomes panicked like she's afraid of something, "Alright, well I should get a move on, Mum and Dad are waiting on me to get my wand. I'll see you at school," she tells me as she turns and hastily exits the shop. Well, that was weird.

"Wait! Well I guess I'll see you at school," I call after her, but she doesn't hear me. That was odd to say the least. I feel off and weird as I pay for my stuff. I think I creeped her out or something else did because she acted like I was gonna hurt her or something. I'm not evil! Jeezy Cow!

I meet Hagrid, and Harry outside Flourish and Blotts. Harry goes into the shop.

"I'm going ter take yeh ter get yer other books," Hagrid pulling me by the shirt collar. "Keep quiet, don't draw attention to yerself, stay close and follow me."

I follow Hagrid down a dark, dank and shady alley. There was a sign on the left side of the wall that said Knockturn Alley. All of the stuff down here are associated with the Dark Arts. We keep our heads down and stay close to the cold brick wall. It smells strongly of cigarette smoke down here.

We come to a shop called Williams Olde Weaponry, and I walk into the shop. Hagrid waits in the alley, refusing to go in. I don't know why, I'd go in just to get away from the strange people down here. I walk up to the dude at the counter. The hair on the back of my neck stands up when I look at him. Behind him is a giant painting of a great green snake. There are swords, guns, crossbows, and shields hanging all over the dark red walls. He had short wavy blonde hair that hangs in his face, but I couldn't see his face because his hood is up. He looks to be head and shoulders taller than me. He's a bit shady, but then again so is everyone else down here. I don't like it, "Excuse me, but do you sell gauntlet or pen swords? And do you know what they are?"

He looks up, and his eyes glow bright green under his hood. "Ah, a brother, do you know what your animal is Mr. -?"

"Kross and no," I say. "Oh, I guess you'd know me as Prince though."

He gasps, "It's an honor to meet you Mr. Kross, I wondered when they told me you were found unconscious without a mark. And now my suspicions are proven correct. Your eyes are quite red, and you still have your American accent."

"Um okay?"

" Mages acquire the accent of where they are born. You were born in the States, so you have an American accent. Your mum was born in Ireland, so she had an Irish accent. No one really knows why, there are several mysteries surrounding us. Even we don't know much. Do you know your element?"

"Um water I think," I say letting water hover above my fingertips.

"Astounding, your powers are very well matured for someone your age, but McGonagall did say you were going to be powerful," he says beaming.

"Uh about the swords?" I ask uncomfortably as he stares. I start to wonder if Mages' eyes glow their animal's colors whenever their eyes meet. I suppose so. Maybe it's so they reveal a brother as he calls it.

"I have one more question for you first. How old are you Andrew?" This makes me even more uncomfortable than I already was. People I don't even know are not supposed to know my name, or talk to me like they already know me.

"Eleven."

"Strange," he mutters under his breath; he says something else but I can't make it out.

"What?" I ask him.

"Right, swords come here," he beckons me behind the counter, and opens the giant painting of a the snake to reveal a doorway . Inside is a small dark square room. My eyes actually light up the room in bright red, and his do too in bright green. I jump back in panic. He chuckles, "You've never actually done that before, have you? A Mage's night vision. Comes in handy at times," he chuckles again. The hair on the back of my neck stand up even more and my body erupts out in goose bumps.

He shakes his head and chuckles, "Frogs, always a bit jumpy when they run into predators, even if it's a brother or sister."

"I-Is that my animal?" I ask. It would explain a lot.

"Yes, I believe so. You need to hide it better, it's not good when it can be spotted within fifteen minutes. Of what kind, I've only got a hunch. Let me see your hand,"

I hold my right one out hesitantly, and he grabs it to examine it. Adrenaline courses through my veins and I jump five feet in the air literally.

"Calm down, I'm not gonna hurt you," he says chuckling. "You need to fight off your initial instincts, or you could pass out anytime snakes or Centaurs or other predators come near you. You're definitely a red-eyed tree frog.

That explains the boa constrictor incident. "Cool, but aren't people gonna think it's a little lame?" I ask. I was hoping for a wolf, not a frog, "Wait, are you a snake?"

"It's not lame as you call it. No, you can flee fast, jump impeccably high, the strength in your limbs will surely enable you to lift a car, you can stick to walls like that Muggle comic character, turn into one, so you can go into small spaces. Your senses will be extremely sharp and, you'll be agile too. Of course you can speak to frogs and toads. Bottom line, you'll be unstoppable in fights.

"Except I'm a viper, so I could easily kill you with one bite, I can also see and hear on levels that are beyond that of a normal person. My limbs can bend as if they have no bones. I can climb walls just like you can. My element is earth. Of course I can speak to snakes too. Although, most of them are quite crabby now that I think about it."

I laugh nervously. I'm a bit weary of his comment about biting me. I keep my distance from him. The hair on the back of my neck doesn't go down either. I have to remember to get to water whenever I get hurt from now on.

He points around the room, "Here are the swords. You need them for Physical Defense and Combat classes."

In the back is a glass case that spans around the entire room. Inside are literal gauntlets and pens in all different colors. "Um these are gauntlets and pens."

"Yep, what did you think gauntlet pen swords meant?" He asks chuckling.

"I thought it meant a real sword."

"They are real swords, click the pens or press a button on one of the gauntlets and it turns into a sword. Which would you like? I personally recommend gauntlet swords. It'll stay on your wrist, and you won't have to worry about it. What type do you want?"

"An Obsidian gauntlet sword," I say. If it's the best I'm gonna need it.

He nods and takes a blood red metal gauntlet out of the glass case. It flies from his hands and latches onto my right wrist. It's long, ending at my forearm. I cover it with Dudley's oversized long sleeves. "Yep, this kind definitely seems to favor frogs. If I'm not mistaken there are two other Mages attending Hogwarts at the moment . Of course, another will be your tutor, every Mage has a different one. Being a frog is not something to be ashamed of."

He puts my Mage books on the counter.

I nod and pay the forty galleon price. He looks at me, "If you ever need any advice, information, or someone to talk to, owl me," he says winking. "Oh, and try to stay healthy, Mages have a bit of an immune system problem because they are too busy keeping both halves of us alive." We bid each other good bye with our animal's eyes. "It's a Mage's greeting and farewell," he explains," Shows us we're in it together, that we're not alone." I nod and walk out of the store. The gauntlet feels tight and uncomfortable on my arm.

"Come on, let's get out o' this alley. I hate it down here. Then, yeh can go off on yer own again."

I leave Hagrid at Flourish and Blotts with Harry and Rachel.

I'm glad we aren't too rare. That means there are at least three others like me. I thought I was the only one. I get my potions ingredients (The girl at the counter told me I was bound to be a potions prodigy. I don't know why), a pewter caldron, and crystal phials since that lady told me I was bound to be good at potions. I got a nice set of scales, an astronomy map, and a collapsible telescope.

Since I have a little time left, and more money than I've ever had in my life, I decide to get some clothes that actually fit. Madam Malkin just couldn't understand why I didn't want robes. One they're itchy and two they're really uncomfortable.

When I walk out carrying a trunk full of my new school stuff behind me. My gauntlet is perfectly hidden. It feels good to be in clothes you can actually fit by the way. I see Harry, Rach, and Hagrid walking out of the Apothecary. Harry and Rachel's faces look as red as a tomato, and they were talking about something, did Hagrid say something about sneezing? I run to catch up. "Guys wait up!" I call as I run up behind them.

"Hey, Andrew," says Harry casually, "You look much better without Dudley's clothes on."

"Definitely," says Rachel, "You could probably do better than even Lucinda Gage now."

I roll my eyes. I'm telling you, nothing went on between us. Well, unless you count that bet, but I was not going to let Rachel make me go stark naked down the street.

"An' there's Andrew," says Hagrid enthusiastically, "Yeh clean up well. Good timing, I'm gettin' you, Rachel and Harry your birthday presents. Owls," He says happily. Oh, so that's why Harry's face is red. I'm sure mine is too now. "An' don't protest, they both already tried it."

"Thanks," I say smiling from ear to ear. I turn to Harry and Rachel, "Guys, you won't believe what my animal is," I say.

"What is it?" Harry asks.

"Something embarrassing, like I feel weak now."

"Awe come on, it can't be that bad. I mean, you have super strength, you have water powers and you can like climb walls," Rachel inquires.

"A tree frog."

Rachel bursts out laughing.

"See," I point out crossing my arms.

"Hey, I didn't laugh," says Harry chuckling.

"You are now," Rachel says smugly.

"Shhhh! Don' go shoutin' abou' that!" Hagrid hisses, "You could get yerselves killed."

"Sorry," I say quietly. I recount everything that happened to me at the weapon shop, while the twins fill me in on what Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Quidditch is. I'm definitely not flying. If a cart can screw my stomach up, a broom definitely will.

" It's okay," says Hagrid, "Well, that's odd. Never heard of it happen' that early," he informs looking in my eyes, "If yer mom seen that, she'd be jealous. Never had the chance to happen to her."

"What are you talking about?" I ask as we all walk into the Eeylops Owl Emporium.

"Can't tell ya that. Yeh'll have to figure it out for yerself."

I look at Harry disbelievingly, "Will anyone ever stop talking to me in code?"

He shrugs as we look at all the different colored animals. All the toads won't stop talking to me. It's getting annoying.

"Is he looking at us?"

"I think he's looking right at us…"

"Oi… can you hear us?"

"I think he can.."

"Isn't he famous?"

"I think he is." By the way they're talking at about 90 miles an hour and you don't even wanna hear the rest….

Rach and Harry go straight toward the owls, but I want to take a look at all the animals before I get an owl, but only because I've never seen them like this. There are animals of every color and size in here.

I become particularly interested in a green and purple beagle and bend down to pet her. She licks my hand. Magic is amazing.

"Hey Andrew," Rachel calls from the other side of the shop, "I think we found an owl for you. He looks a bit like you, black with bright blue eyes and everything."

"Really?" I ask, "Let me see."

At that moment I hear a piercing bark from behind me, and a yell from one of the employees. I turn around to see what all the commotion is about when a basketball-sized ball of white and light brown fur comes flying at me. I catch it out of instinct, and it knocks me off balance. It lets out a large bark as it tries to lick me.

It's a large bull-dog pup with fat rolls the size of Wisconsin. He reminds me of Dudley except he's much friendlier.

A plump Hispanic woman comes running towards me, "Oh I'm so sorry," she says, "he keeps getting out of his cage…do you want him?"

I look down at the fat dog. He's ugly but for some reason I couldn't let him go. He grew on me way too quick. "Hold on let me check something."

"Hagrid?" I shout through the aisles, "Come here please!"

After a minute or two Hagrid walks up through the aisles along with Harry and Rach who are carrying two large cages, each with identical beautiful large snowy owls asleep with their heads under their wings.

"What's up?" Hagrid asks.

"Hagrid, I know that you said we're getting owls and I know it says 'Owl, Cat, or Toad, but I'm more of a dog person, you think they can make an exception?" I ask gesturing to the ball of fat rolls in my arms.

He chuckles. "They do all the time, Dumbledore won't care, I got me own dog on the grounds as well. So, dog it is."

"Awwe…" says Rachel petting him, "He's like a cute version of Dudley," she giggles, "He'll be a chick magnet, Andrew. You should get him." Does she think all animals are cute?

"I haven't got much of a choice do I? He sort of chose me," I say laughing. He's really heavy for a puppy.

"Thanks for taking him off our hands," says the lady. I nod and Hagrid pays for our animals and we pay for their supplies we refused to let him pay for.

We come out of the store with three red faces. Harry and Rach are holding large cages containing their owls, to whom the nice lady at the counter said they were twin brother and sister which is why they got them in the first place. I'm holding a leash letting the dog stretch his legs. Something that I'm sure he hasn't got to do in a while. He's so fat he waddles when he walks. We can't seem to stop stuttering our thanks. We sound a lot like Professor Quirrell.

"Don' mention it," says Hagrid gruffly. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now - only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand, Harry, Rachel."

"I'll wait out here, I'd hate to explain to the person working why I'm not getting a wand. It'd just be awkward," I tell them as I sit down on the curb outside the wand shop.

"Alright," the two of them say in unison. It creeps me out how many times a day that actually happens. I wonder why it's only twins that do that.

The bull-dog plops lazily into my lap before trying to lick my face. "Down boy," I order chuckling. I'm seriously considering naming him Dudley.

It's twenty or thirty minutes before Harry and Rachel come out wielding new wands with Hagrid. Rachel had gotten an eleven inch swishy wand made of willow with a Phoenix feather core. Harry's was a bit more odd.

As we walk, they recount what happened to him in Ollivanders.

"Whoa, your wand's Voldemort's wand's brother?" I say staring at it. Hagrid glares and I roll my eyes, "What an unlucky bird," I say shaking my head.

"Tell me about it," says Rachel. "I told him not to buy it. Olivander said mine was like a combination of my parents' wands which makes more sense than being connected to the maniac that tried to kill us all," she says.

I have to admit she's got a point.

We stop and get Harry and Rachel much needed new wardrobes of Muggle clothes too.

The late afternoon sun hangs low in the sky as we make our way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Harry, Rach, and I don't speak at all as we walk down the road; Harry doesn't even notice how many people are gawking at us on the Underground, because we are all loaded down with funny-shaped packages, with Rachel's and Harry's owls, Which is opposite what the puppy's giving us. People smile and bend down to pet him as he waddles around attempting to chase pigeons and sniffing fire hydrants… Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; I only realize where we are when Hagrid taps Harry, Rach and I on our shoulders.

"Got time fer a bit to eat before yer train leaves," he says.

He bought us hamburgers and we set down on plastic seats to eat them. Harry keeps looking around. He looks troubled.

"You all right, Harry? Yer very quiet," says Hagrid.

It's a while before he speaks.

"Everyone thinks I—we—are special," he answers at last. "All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander… but we don't know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? I'm famous and I can't even remember what I'm famous for. I don't know what happened when Vol—sorry—I mean, the night our parents, and Drew's mum died."

I look down as I take a bite out of my hamburger, "I was just thinking the same thing. How can I be special if I—uh-oh…" I bet you know what happens next, but just in case you don't, I run over and hurl in a trash can. Stupid Mage immune system. I throw the remaining half of my hamburger to my dog who inhales it the second it hits the ground.

"Guys I say we ignore the expectations. It's stupid really to think that eleven year olds overpowered the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time. Let's just try to be realistic ," says Rachel.

We nod. "Yeah, I second that," I say.

Hagrid leans across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows, he wears a very kind smile. He's not even stifling a laugh at me puking.

"Don' you worry, you three. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it's hard. You, Rachel, and Andrew been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have great times at Hogwarts—I did—still do, 'smatter of fact."

"I don't know, I mean I met this girl today, and we were talking, but all of a sudden she ran out of the store like I was weird or something," I tell them.

"Well, you kinda are," says Rachel taking a sip of her soda.

"Not my point."

"Then, what is?" Harry jokes.

Hagrid helps us onto the train that will take us back to the Dursleys, then hands each of us an envelope.

"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts," he says. "First o' September—King's Cross—it's all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with yer owls, they'll know where to find me… See yeh soon kids."

The train pulls out of the station. We try to watch Hagrid until he is out of sight; Harry rises out of his seat and presses his nose against the window, but he blinks and gasps, "He's gone."

Chapter 5: Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Trevor along with Draco Malfoy.

Our last month at the Dursleys' turns out to be fun. I'm not kidding. I think I must be lying to myself, but I'm not. Dudley's so scared of us, he can't even stay in the same room. Petunia and Vernon don't lock us in our room, force us to do anything, or shout at us at all—they didn't talk to us at all. (So much better, but it did get annoying.) Half terrified, half furious, they act as if any chair with me, Rach or Harry in it is empty.

We keep to our room reading text books and listening music on the old radio Harry fixed that we found in the room. I find that I like a band called Creedence Clearwater Revival and R.E.M. is pretty cool too. Their owls and my dog keep us company. Harry decides to call his Hedwig, a name he found in A History of Magic.

Now let me tell you how Rachel came up with hers. She will never live this down. We told her that Harry named his Hedwig, so she goes, "Well if Harry is going to name his after a classical composer, than I'm going to name mine Mozart."

"Uh, Rach," I say stifling a laugh, "I think you're mixing up Ludwig Beethoven with Hedwig."

She shrugs, "Well I'm still naming him Mozart, besides it fits."

"Okay," Harry and I say laughing.

"Rach any suggestions on what I should name Dudley the second," I ask pointing to the dog in my lap.

"I like the name Bruiser," she reasons like she's deep in thought. "It's a tough name, because I don't think he looks like a Fido or a Scooby."

"Bruiser," I say trying the name out, "I like it. Bruiser it is, then."

Magic is fascinating. That's basically all we do anymore. Read through our textbooks. We try out defense and combat on each other. Harry ends up with a black eye, and I have a big gash across my cheek. It says in Taming the Beasts Within Us, that Mages with water healing abilities can advance their power to heal others after a while.  
I wasn't able to heal Harry, but I was able to heal myself with water.

Rach beat me. I'm not gonna lie, but it was a fluke because Harry distracted me, and she whacked me on the back of the head with the handle of my sword that she could barely lift.

I've also been going out in Petunia's garden training my water powers. It's really easy when it comes to plants. I've been able to make plants bloom easily with the water that comes out of my hands. I think it's because the water has some sort of magical property to it. Petunia is really pleased with herself. She thinks she has a green thumb and is constantly working in it whenever she gets the chance now.

Every night before we go to sleep, Harry ticks off another day on a calendar he pinned to the wall counting down the days before we go to Hogwarts. I owl William for some pointers every once in a while with Hedwig.

I've been doing exercises to make my first transformation faster even though it says I won't start transforming until I'm fifteen or sixteen, like studying frogs, meditating, and for some reason, eating apples tend to speed it up.

If I really am related to Vampires, why don't I explode in the sun? Why am I not a blood sucker? Why can I see my reflection? If I'm some type of werewolf, why don't I go all wonky on the full moon? It doesn't make sense.

Harry's been trying out new spells. He finds one spell that will light up his wand like a flashlight, and Rachel finds one that will unlock doors. I'm pretty sure she will one day be a con artist.

Harry even found a spell that will take stains and stenches out of things, which we need because the owls keep bringing in mice, and I still haven't housebroken Bruiser. We are lucky Petunia doesn't come in to vacuum, or she would've had a cow. One time Hedwig brought in a dead frog, and my instincts lost it. I jumped out the window, stormed off, and didn't come back, and climb up the wall, and in through the window for two hours.

So apparently seeing dead frogs is just like seeing a dead human now… This is pathetic, and now Rachel can threaten to drag me into a Chinese restaurant whenever I annoy her.

One night, I finally finish my Potions book on the floor as the Blue Oyster Cult is blaring through the radio, Bruiser is lying next to me with his head on my lap drooling, and Rachel is at the window seal going on about, "You don't have to read the entire year's curriculum before you've even been in class."

I shrug, "Potions is fascinating," I grin, "Besides, Harry's read every single one but Potions, so now combined we know almost everything."

"Hey you read three. Combat, Potions, and Defense," Harry says defending himself.

"I read none of them, I've just been flipping through them. I can't stand reading, so you two nerds have no room to talk," says Rachel giggling.

"It's not like we have anything else to do," I say tossing the book back into my trunk, "Besides, I want to know what to expect. This is so much better than Math anyway. We all know I suck at it, and from what I've seen in my Astronomy text book, I'm gonna fail it. You cannot tell the future from looking at stars. It doesn't work. Plus, no one's ever gonna beat me in a sword or fist fight. I will not allow that to happen, not since I read these books."

"Uh, Andrew, are you forgetting that I beat you," says Rachel.

"It was a fluke," I say throwing a pillow at her.

She rolls her eyes, "Sore loser," she sings.

"Whatever, I just can't wait to learn all of this. Imagine how awesome to say that we don't ever have to study Muggle stuff again," I say.

"I think this is literally the best thing that's ever happened to us," says Harry happily as he stands. "Only a week left!"

"Yeah, I can't wait! What do you think it's gonna be like?" I ask as he ticks off another day on the calendar.

"Probably ten times better than Diagon Alley. I just hope we're in the same house," Rachel says smiling.

"And that it's not in Slytherin," Harry sneers.

"Yeah," I say chuckling.

We wake up on the last day of August, thinking, we'd better speak to Petunia and Vernon about getting to King's Cross station the tomorrow, so we go down to the living room where they are watching a quiz show on T.V.. We clear our throats to let them know we are there, and Dudley screams and runs from the room. He acts like we're gonna kill him or something. Geez.

"Er—Uncle Vernon?" starts Harry.

Vernon grunts to show he's listening.

"Er—Drew, Rach, and I need to be at King's Cross tomorrow to—to go to Hogwarts."

Vernon grunts again.

"Would it be all right if you gave us a lift?" I ask.

Grunt. We suppose that means yes.

"Thank you," we all say.

We are about to go back upstairs when Vernon actually speaks.

"Funny way to get to a wizards' school, the train. Magic carpets all got punctures, have they?"

"Nope, they've been banned," says Rachel beaming. Then she realizes Vernon sees no humor in the matter, and she falls silent awkwardly.

"Where is this school, anyway?"

"We don't know," I say, realizing this for the first time.

Harry pulls the ticket Hagrid had given him out of his pocket. "We just take the train from platform nine and three-quarters at eleven o'clock," he reads.

Their aunt and uncle stares at us.

"Platform what?"

"Nine and three-quarters," Rach says.

"Don't talk rubbish," says Vernon. "There is no platform nine and three-quarters."

Harry shrugs, "It's on our tickets."

"Barking," says Vernon, "howling mad, the lot of them. You'll see. You just wait. All right, we'll take you to King's Cross. We're going up to London tomorrow anyway, or I wouldn't bother."

"Why are you going to London?" Harry asks, obviously trying to keep things friendly.

"Taking Dudley to the hospital," growls Vernon. "Got to have that ruddy tail removed before he goes to Smeltings."

We walk upstairs howling with laughter.

"Imagine the look on the doctor's faces when they see that one!" I muse when we're back in our room.

"Probably do the same thing we did when we saw it happen," says Harry.

"What, laugh?" Rachel asks amused.

Harry just shrugs, "Most likely."

We crack up again.

I wake up at three in the morning and roll Bruiser off of me. I'm too nervous and excited to go back to sleep. I grin in the darkness as I hear Harry and Rachel on the bed snoring. I get off the floor and stretch. I decide to get dressed so I pull on some jeans, a T-shirt and the black jacket I bought in Diagon Alley. I pull on my shoes and mess around with water.

I make the tiny waves come in and out like a tide. It feels cool.

I would practice with the sword, but I don't like it. I hate that we're required to use one, because it doesn't feel right. I prefer my fists.

Only I have to be quiet while doing it, but it's no problem, my Mage powers have increased with the month of nothing but practice, so I'm a lot more graceful than I was at the start of the summer. I quit when Harry wakes up at five gawking at me as my red eyes glow through the dark.

I grin, "What's up?" I say as I let the water go away.

"Oh nothing, you just startled me. Look like a demon with that Mage Vision of yours," he sighs sitting up pulling on his jeans.

I shrug, "I'm harmless. Seriously I want to know how a frog is evil, because I'm completely benign."

He laughs.

"Should we wake Rachel?" I ask looking at Rachel bathed in the red light of my eyes.

"Go ahead," he says chuckling.

"HEY RACH, WE'RE OFF TO HOGWARTS TODAY! GET UP!" I yell in her ear as I dodge the punch she throws and catch her before she rolls off of the bed.

"I'm gonna kill you one day Andrew flipping Prince or Kross or whatever your bloody name is," she whisper yells. Then she backhands me in the stomach. "Ow," she says holding her hand. "Don't you know eleven year olds are not supposed to have abs? Geez."

I shrug, "Sorry." I can't control these weird body changes, it's not like a work out like some fitness obsessed person. I don't care what I look like.

We check our lists twice to make sure everything's safely packed in our trunks, Bruiser is on his leash, Mozart, and Hedwig are shut safely in their cages, and we pace the room for two hours before the Dursleys get up.

My hands are shaking bad as we wait and wait and refuse breakfast. Dudley comments that my red eyes are really him creeping out and says something about what's wrong with all of us because we're acting really weird.

I shrug, when Harry says, "Good luck with your tail."

"Haha, yeah, you need to video tape the doctor's reactions. It'll be priceless," I say happily.

He glares at us.

Rach shrugs, "We were just trying to be friendly."

A few minutes later, I throw our trunks into the Dursleys' car with ease, as Petunia and Dudley gawk. "Sorry about the eyes, they won't stop." I'm nervous as I get into the car, but I think they are gawking at the way I threw the trunks into the car. Petunia talks Dudley into sitting next to me as I'd be the one sitting in the middle with Rach, and then Harry on the other side of me.

I sigh, "I'm not gonna bite," I say rolling my eyes. Even so, he hugs the door of the car all the way to King's Cross, which we are dropped off at half past ten.

Rachel laughs, "Yes, Drew Devil totally bites again."

"Enough with the super hero puns already," I say irritably.

Vernon dumps our trunks into three carts and he and Petunia wheel them into the station for us. The three of us exchange disbelieving glances thinking this is strangely kind until Vernon stops dead, facing the platforms with a nasty grin on his face.

"Well, there you are children . Platform nine—platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet, do they?"

He's right, of course. There's a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all.

"Have a good term," says Vernon with an even nastier smile. He leaves without another word. We turn and see the Dursleys drive away. All three of them are laughing. My mouth goes dry. What on earth are we going to do? We're starting to attract a lot of funny looks, because of Hedwig, and Mozart. We exchange panicked looks. We have to ask someone.

We stop a passing guard, but don't dare mention platform nine and three-quarters. I have to keep my eyes hidden and the guard has never heard of Hogwarts and when we can't even tell him what part of the country it was in, he starts to get annoyed, as if are being stupid on purpose. Getting desperate, we ask for the train that leaves at eleven, but the guard says there wasn't one. In the end, the guard strides away, muttering about time wasters. We are now trying hard not to panic which in the end is impossible. According to the large clock over the arrivals board, we have ten minutes left to get on the train to Hogwarts and we have no idea how to do it; we are stranded in the middle of a station with three trunks, three pockets full of wizard money, three wands, a sword, a bull-dog and two large owls.

Hagrid must have forgotten to tell us something you have to do, like tapping the third brick on the left to get into Diagon Alley. Harry wonders out loud if he should get out his wand and start tapping the ticket inspector's stand between platforms nine and ten.

"I'm not sure that'll work, Harry," Rachel reasons kindly.

At that moment a group of people pass just behind us and we catch a few words of what they're saying.

"GINNY, stop that, do you want to get lost in Muggle London?"

We all swing around. The speaker is a plump woman who's talking to four boys, and a little girl all with flaming red hair. Each of the boys is pushing a trunk like ours in front of him—and they have an owl.

We glance at each other and we can't help smiling; we seem to come to a silent agreement. Our hearts hammering, we push our carts after them. They stop and so do Harry, Rach and I, just near enough to hear what they're saying.

"Come on then," says the boy's mom, "Platform nine and three-quarters this way."

"Mum can't I go?" the little red head girl who's holding her hand pipes up.

"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first."

What looks like the oldest guy marches toward platforms nine and ten. We watch, careful not to blink in case we miss it—but just as he reaches the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists come swarming in front of him and by the time the last backpack had clears away, he had vanished.

"Well crap," I say bluntly.

"Fred, you next," the plump woman says.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," says the boy. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother?"

"Sorry, George, dear."

"Only joking, I am Fred," the boy says, and off he goes. His twin calls after him to hurry up, and he must have done so, because a second later, he's gone—but how had he done it?

Now the third brother's walking briskly toward the barrier—he's almost there—and then, suddenly, he isn't anywhere.

There's nothing else to it.

"Excuse me," Harry says to the plump woman.

"Hello, dears," she greets. "First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too."

We nod and I turn my head so she can't look in my eyes. Rachel grabs hold of my arm.

She points at the last and youngest of her sons. He's tall (not as tall as me though, I'm a smidge taller than him), thin, and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose.

"Yeah," I say. "The thing is—the thing is, we don't know how to—"

"How to get onto the platform?" she finishes kindly, and we nod.

"Not to worry," she says. "All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared or you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Ron."

"I'll go," I tell her.

I break out into a run towards the barrier, and I'm now standing in a platform full of witches and wizards saying good bye to their sons and daughters. It's packed. A sign overhead says Hogwarts Express eleven o'clock. There's a beautiful scarlet steam engine in front of me. It's awesome, like a scene out of a movie.

Harry and Rach come up behind me, amazed looks plastered on both of their faces. I grin at them.

Smoke from the engine drifts over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wind here and there between their legs. Owls hoot to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

The first few carriages are already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry and I grin at each other, then push our carts off down the platform in search of an empty seat. We pass a round-faced boy who's saying, "Gran, I've lost my toad again."

I sigh, "When we get on the train, remind me to help him," I say cheerfully.

He nods, "Someone's happy, your eyes are deep blue again."

I shrug, "Don't tell me you aren't excited?!"

"I am," he says defensively.

"Wonder if we'll find that girl. Find out what her problem is."

Rachel claps a hand on my shoulder, "She just blew you off, you'll get over it," she says playfully.

"Shut up."

"Oh, Neville," we hear the old woman sigh.

A boy with dreadlocks is surrounded by a small crowd.

"Give us a look, Lee, go on."

The boy lifts the lid of a box in his arms, and the people around him shriek and yell as something inside poke out a long, hairy leg.

"Yuck," I groan as Bruiser goes back on his hind legs and lets out a booming bark. Harry and Rachel chuckle at the both of us.

Harry, Rach, and I press on through the crowd until we find an empty compartment near the end of the train. We put Bruiser, Mozart, and Hedwig inside first and then I dump Rachel and I's trunks in next. Harry tries to lift his up the steps but can hardly raise one end and twice, Harry drops it painfully on his foot.

I smile, and am about to help, but then we hear a voice. "Want a hand?" It's one of the red-haired twins we'd followed through the barrier.

"Yes, please," Harry pants. Before I can help again he calls for his twin.

"Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!"

With the twins' help, Harry's trunk is at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment.

"Thanks," says Harry, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

"What's that?" says one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Harry's lightening scar.

"Blimey," said the other twin. "Are you—?"

"He is," says the first twin. He points at Rachel, and she's—"

He turns to me, "Then you must be—aren't you?" he adds to me.

"What?" We ask.

"The Potter Twins and Andrew Prince," choruses the twins.

"Oh them," says Harry. "I mean, yes, we are."

"Really bro?" Rach asks holding out a hand to them.

I roll my eyes, "Andrew Kross, but you guys seem to call me Prince," I say shaking their hands with a smile.

"Fred and George Weasley," they say together.

The two boys gawk at us, and we are all turning red. Then, to our relief, a voice comes floating in through the train's open door.

"Fred? George? Are you there?"

"Coming, Mum."

With a last look at Harry and I, the twins hop off the train.

We set down next to the windows where, half hidden, we can watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they're saying. Bruiser jumps heavily into my lap.

Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief.

"Ron, you've got something on your nose."

The youngest boy tries to jerk out of the way, but she grabs him and begins rubbing the end of his nose.

"Mum—geroff," he wriggles free.

"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nose?" says one of the twins.

"Shut up," says Ron.

"Where's Percy?" asks their mother.

"He's coming now."

The oldest boy comes striding into sight. He's already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes, and Harry points to a shiny red-and-gold badge on his chest with the letter P on it. "What is it?" I ask.

Rachel shrugs, "Don't ask me," she whispers.

"Can't stay long, Mother," he says. "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves—"

"Oh, must be like a hall monitor," I reason.

"Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?" says one of the twins, with an air of great surprise. "You should have said something. We had no idea."

"Hang on I think I remember him saying something about it," says the other twin. "Once—"

"Or twice—"

"A minute—"

"All summer—"

"Oh, shut up," says Percy the Prefect.

Rach and I snort.

"How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?" says one of the twins.

"Because he's a prefect," says their mother fondly. "All right, dear, well, have a good term—send me an owl when you get there."

She kisses Percy on the cheek and he leaves. Then she turns to the twins.

"Now, you two—this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've—you've blown up a toilet or—"

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea thought, thanks, Mum." I find myself snorting again.

"It's not funny. And look after Ron."

"Don't worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us."

"Shut up," says Ron again. He's almost as tall as the twins already who are around my height and his nose is still pink where his mother had rubbed it.

"Hey, Mum, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?"

We lean back quickly so they can't see us looking.

"You know those black-haired boys, one short and one as tall, and the really pretty red head girl who were near us in the station? Know who they are?" says the twin I believe is George.

"Who?"

"The Potter Twins and Andrew Prince!" They say in unison. They do that more than Harry and Rachel. It's creepy.

We hear the little girl's voice.

"Oh, Mum, can I go on the train and see them, Mum, oh please…"

"You've already seen them, Ginny, and the poor children aren't something you goggle at in a zoo. Are they really, Fred? How do you know?"

"Asked them. Saw Harry's scar. It's really there—like lightning."

"Poor dears—no wonder they were alone, I wondered. Harry was every so polite when he asked how to get onto the platform."

"Never mind that, do you think they remember what You-Know-Who looks like?"

Their mom suddenly becomes very stern.

"I forbid you to ask them, Fred. No, don't you dare. As though they need reminding of that on their first day at school."

"Thank you," I hear Harry mutter quietly.

"All right, keep your hair on."

A whistle sounds.

"Hurry up!" their mother says, and the three boys clamber onto the train. They lean out of the window for her to kiss them good-bye, and their younger sister begins to cry.

"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls."

"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat."

"George!"

"Only joking, Mum."

Harry, Rach, and I laugh.

"I love these guys," says Rachel smiling from ear to ear.

"Well you're in luck," I say smugly, "They think you're hot."

"Oh shush," she says. "I believe the word they used was pretty."

"Whatever," I say smirking, "They still think you're attractive."

The train begins to move. We see the boys' mom waving and their sister, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until it gathers too much speed, then she falls back and waves.

We watch the girl and her mother disappear as the train rounds the corner. Houses flash past the window. I feel a great leap of excitement. I don't know where I'm going to—but I'm certain it's much better than what I'm leaving behind. I'm just hoping I get to share it with Harry and Rach, and figure out what that girl's problem is.

We grin at each other.

The door of the compartment slides open and the youngest red-headed boy comes in.

"Anyone sitting here?" he asks. "Everywhere else is full."

"Please," I say pointing to the seat next to Harry.

The boy glances at us and then he quickly looks out of the window, pretending he hadn't looked. I see he still has a black mark on his nose.

"Hey, Ron."

The twins are back.

"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train—Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there.

I wrinkle my nose. I hate spiders.

"Rachel, Harry, Andrew," says the other twin, "did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then."

"Bye," all three of us say," And the twins slide the compartment door shut behind him.

I laugh as I realize Rachel is wearing a blush the size of Oklahoma.

"Are you really Harry Potter, Rachel Potter, and Andrew Prince?" Ron blurts out.

We grin and nod, "But technically I'm a Kross."

"Oh—well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," says Ron. He addresses Harry, "And have you really got—you know…"

He points at Harry's forehead, and then turns to Rachel's ear.

"Oh yeah," chuckles Harry as he pulls back his bangs and Rach pulls her hair behind her ear to show the lightning scars. Ron stares.

"So that's where You-Know-Who—?"

"Yes," says Harry.

"but we can't remember it," says Rachel

"Nothing?" says Ron eagerly.

"Well—I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else," says Harry.

I keep quiet about what I remember from the dreams.

"Wow," says Ron. He stares at us for a few moments. Then, as though he has suddenly realized what he was doing, he looks quickly out of the window again.

"Are all your family wizards?" asks Harry, who finds Ron just as interesting as Ron found him.

"Er—yes, I think so," says Ron. "I think Mum's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."

"So you must know loads of magic already," I add. The Weasleys are clearly one of those old Wizarding families the pale boy in Diagon Alley had talked about.

"I heard you went to live with Muggles," says Ron. "What are they like?"

"Horrible," Rachel and I groan.

"Well, not all of them," says Harry. "My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though. Wish I'd had three wizard brothers."

"Five," says Ron. For some reason, he's looking gloomy. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left—Bill was Head Boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat."

Ron reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a fat gray rat, which is asleep.

"His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff—I mean, I got Scabbers instead."

Ron's ears go pink. He seems to think he'd said too much, because he goes back to staring out of the window.

"Money's not an issue Ron," I say, "Harry and I didn't have money till last month. We were dirt poor before then."

Ron stares at me, "But you're like famous."

"You can be well known and not have money," Rachel points out.

"Yeah, I guess," he says cheering up a little.

Harry then proceeds to tell him how we had found out what we were.

"… and until Hagrid told us, we didn't know anything about being a wizard, A Mage, and a witch or about our parents or Voldemort—"

Ron gasps.

"What?" asks Harry.

"You said You-Knows-Who's name!" muses Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed. "I'd have thought you of all people—"

"I'm not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name," says Harry. "I just never knew you shouldn't. See what I mean? I've got loads to learn… I bet," he adds, voicing for the first time to someone other than me something that had been worrying him a lot lately, "I bet I'm the worst in the class."

" Seriously, are you forgetting Professor Berg?" I ask Harry.

"Or what Mrs. Marks said to me," Rach says laughing.

"You won't be. There's loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough."

_Yeah, but none of them are Mages._ I let out a frustrated sigh.

"Whoa, you're eyes are red!" Ron almost yells.

"No they're not," Harry, Rach, and I say immediately. I pretend to wipe the sweat of my forehead with my jacket sleeve to shield my eyes.

"Yes, they were, I saw them!" Ron says amazed leaning in close trying to get a good look at my eyes.

Merlin, we're in trouble. I focus hard on my shoes.

"You can't be…can you?" Ron asks his mouth could've touched my nose, he is so close to my face. I feel his warm breath on my face, "I mean, I've never even _seen_ one before."

"Shove off Weasley! He's not something you can ogle at in a zoo!" Rachel barks. She's glaring daggers at Ron.

Ron winces at the use of his last name, "I'm not going to tell anyone. I'd never do that if he is what I think he is." He looks intently at me, "Are you one?"

I look at him gulping. Can I trust this guy? I keep my mouth shut. What am I supposed to tell him? I glance at Rachel and Harry before deciding on the truth even though they have terrified looks on their faces. The Weasleys don't seem like the kind of people who would hurt anyone for what they were born with.

I decide on the truth. I nod, "I'm not evil, Ron."

"Whoa!" He goes, "There's nothing wrong with that. It's cool! People who hunt you guys are stupid! What's your animal?"

I smile, "It's a bit embarrassing, but a red-eyed tree frog."

He laughs hard, "_Wow! _Can you transform yet?" He's obviously not impressed. I shake my head.

"Can't until I'm fifteen or sixteen."

"Don't worry. This is way cooler than being a normal wizard. Plus, you get fighting classes, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"What is your element?" Ron asks enthusiastically.

"Water ," I say making water shoot from my hands.

"Whoa," Ron muses.

While we had been talking, the train carries us out of London. Now we are speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. I let Ron hold my sword which he drops because it's too heavy. "Does being a frog give you super strength or something?"

"Something like that."

Ron mutters something that sounds like, "Superman on crack."

Rachel laughs, "I called him Drew Devil."

"That's a good one," Ron chuckles.

I clap a hand to my forehead.

"Don't listen to her," I moan exasperatedly.

Around half past twelve there's a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slides back our door and asks, "Anything off the cart, dears?"

We leap to our feet. Not seeing any of these things in our lives, we end up buying some of everything.

Ron stares as we bring it all back in to the compartment and tip it onto an empty seat.

"Hungry, are you?" asks Ron.

"Starving," we reply, taking huge bites out of what's called a pumpkin pasty.

Ron takes out a lumpy package and unwraps it. There are four sandwiches inside. He pulls on of them apart and says, "She always forgets I don't like corned beef."

"Swap you for one of these," says Harry, holding up a pasty. "Go on—"

"You don't want this, it's all dry," says Ron. "She hasn't got much time," he adds quickly, "you know, with five of us."

"Give them to me," I say holding out my hand. He hands them over hesitantly. "Now, there's only a few advantages to having a morbidly obese bull-dog, and this is one of them. They're like giant vacuum cleaners, and whenever you have food you don't want—" I drop the sandwiches on the ground, and they disappear a second later as Bruiser makes his way over to them. "Well, you get the point."

"Problem solved," says Ron laughing.

"Exactly."

Harry rolls his eyes, "You and that dog…"

"They are man's best friend," I reply scratching him behind the ears. He's doubled in size in the past month. "We understand each other."

"Go on, have a pasty," Harry tells Ron after rolling his eyes at me again.

"What are these?" I ask Ron, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. "They're not really frogs, are they?"

"No," quips Ron. "But see what the card is. I'm missing Agrippa. I promise you can eat them, your magic didn't bind to them."

"What?" asks Rachel.

"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know—Chocolate Frogs have cards inside them, you know, to collect—famous witches and wizards. I've got about five hundred, but I haven't got Agrippa or Ptolemy."

I unwrap my Chocolate Frog which literally climbs up the compartment wall and jumps out the window. I jump five feet in the air. Ron chuckles, "That's rotten luck, mate. They've only got one good jump into them to begin with."

I pick up my card. It shows a man's face. He wears half-moon glasses, has a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache. Underneath the picture is the name Albus Dumbledore.

"So this is Dumbledore!" I say.

Harry and Rach lean over interestedly. "Whoa, he looks like Gandalf," says Rachel.

"Don't tell me you'd never heard of Dumbledore!" says Ron. "I've got about six o' him. Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa—thanks—," he says when I automatically hand him the rest of mine, not wanting to eat a jumping frog.

I turn over the card and read it out loud:

"'Albus Dumbledore, currently headmaster of Hogwarts. Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.'"

Harry takes the card and turns it back over and has an astounded look on his face, "He's gone!"

"Well, you can't expect him to hang around all day," says Ron. "He'll be back. No, I've got Morgana again and I've got about six of her… do you want it? You can start collecting."

"Give it to Harry or Rachel," I say, "I don't want it."

Ron's eyes stray to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be unwrapped.

"Take them, I told you, I'm not eating a frog," I say disgustedly feeling queasy.

Ron is more interested in eating the frogs than looking at the Famous Witches and Wizards cards, but Harry couldn't keep his eyes off them. I get a disgusted look on my face, and Ron stops eating them and smiles. "I'll stop."

Rach and Harry's pile of chocolate frog cards are getting bigger by the minute.

"You want to be careful with those," Ron warns Harry, Rach and I. "When they say every flavor, they mean every flavor—you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a booger-flavored one once."

Ron picks up a green bean, looks at it carefully, and bites into a corner.

"Bleaaargh—see? Sprouts."

We have a good time eating the Every Flavor Beans, Harry got toast, coconut, baked bean, and strawberry and even became brave enough to nibble the end off a funny gray one Ron wouldn't touch, which turns out to be pepper.

I got lemon, dirt, grass, and strawberry before deciding that I'd pressed my luck enough today.

Rachel got one that turned out to be rubbish flavor, and she wouldn't dare touch another one.

Scabbers is still snoozing on Ron's lap.

"He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," says Ron in disgust. "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look…"

He rummages around in his trunk and pulls out a very battered-looking wand. It's chipped in places and something white is glinting at the end.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway—"

He had just raised his wand when the compartment door slides open. The toadless boy we seen on the platform slides open the compartment door, but he has a girl with him, and not just any girl. He's standing next to the girl in the bookstore. I'm grinning from ear to ear and I leap up from the seat. Harry and Rachel chuckle, "Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she says, "Oh, hey," she smiles at me. Her mood swings are starting to scare me.

"Nope," says Ron but she's not listening, she's staring at the wand in Ron's hand.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

She sits down and Ron looks taken aback.

"Er-alright," stammers Ron. He clears his throat.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow

turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" she asks.

"Oh no," he shrugs, "My brother George gave it to me."

"Really?" she asks. She looks over at Harry, "This is how you perform a spell," She walks over in front of Harry pointing her wand at his face. She waves it, "Occulus Reparo."

There was a noise and the tape on Harry's glasses disappear and they are completely new again. Nothing is there. They look brand new.

"Whoa," Rachel, and I say at the same time.

Harry takes off his glasses examining them, "Thank you."

A pleased look appears on her face.

"Nobody in my family is magic at all. it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was every so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard—I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough—I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

She says all this very fast. I've only read three of them. Harry has read all but one, and judging by the stunned looks on Ron and Neville's faces, they hadn't learned their textbooks by heart either. "That'll definitely be enough," I mutter. She smiles at me. I find myself returning it, "Who are you?" she asks us all.

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron mutters.

"Harry Potter."

"Rachel Potter."

"Andrew Prince," I say grinning at her. Neville and her gawk.

"Are you really?" asks Hermione. We nod. "I know all about you, of course—I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century. All three of you."

"Are we?" says Harry dazed.

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," says Hermione. "Do either of you know what House you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad… You three had better change, you know, I expect we'll be arriving soon."

"We better go and find Neville's toad."

"I'll go help," I say standing up and following them out.

"Why?" says Hermione raising an eyebrow taken aback.

I sigh, "Neville, what's his name?"

"Uh…Trevor," he says not knowing how this was going to help anything.

"Oy, Trevor come here!" I shout through the train.

They stare at me like I'm stupid. I shrug.

The toad hops up to me, and I bend down to pick him up.

"DO I have to go back to him? He always feeds me those pellets, which are bloody disgusting. I'm going to starve to death. Why do you think I planned my escape?" croaks Trevor.

I sigh, "Fine, whatever."

I turn to Neville, "Please don't feed him those pellets. Try crickets."

They gawk, "What?" I ask.

"Here's your toad back, Neville. Okay, Bye now," I say trying to get away as quickly as possible.

But Hermione jerks me backward by the hood. Her brown narrow staring me down. She has a pretty good Death Glare too. Looks like Rach has got some competition. "I'll find out what you are Demon Boy," she says, "You watch."

This girl is bipolar, "I-I…uh…don't know what you're talking about."

She sighs in disgust and turns on her heel, while I bolt back toward the compartment.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," says Ron throwing his wand back in the trunk. "Stupid spell—bet George knew it was a dud.

Rachel snorts.

"She doesn't seem that bad," says Harry. "Probably just trying to make friends."

"Yeah," says Rach.

I sigh, "She's a nightmare," I tell them.

"Exactly," says Ron.

"Wait? Andrew, you two were getting along fine a few seconds ago. What happened?" asks Rachel.

I recount what happened.

"The girl's bipolar. I swear. She'll get me killed. Probably tip off some hunters," I say nervously.

"Anyway," I say trying to change the subject, "I wanna go into Gryffindor."

"All Mages have been in Slytherin though," says Ron.

"Maybe I'll break the tradition."

"You better," says Rachel, "I'm not having my brother end up with stuck up gits like the one we met in the robe store."

"What house are your brothers in?" Harry asks.

"Gryffindor," says Ron. Gloom seems to be settling on him again. "Mum and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin," he says.

"That's the House Vol—I mean, You-Know-Who was in?"

"Yeah," says Ron. He flops back into his seat, looking depressed.

"You know, I think the ends of Scabbers' whiskers are a bit lighter," says Harry, trying to take Ron's mind off Houses. "So what do your oldest brothers do now that they've left, anyway?"

"Charlie's in Romania studying dragons, and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts," says Ron. "Did you hear about Gringotts?" we all shake our heads, "It's been all over the Daily Prophet, but I don't suppose you get that with Muggles—someone tried to rob a high security vault."

Harry, Rachel, and I stare.

"Really? What happened to them?" we ask in unison.

"Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught," Ron says. "My dad says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts," adds Ron, "but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-know-Who's behind it."

"What's your guys' Quidditch teams?" Ron asks.

"Er—I don't know any except Ireland," Harry confesses.

"Ireland," I reply easily.

"Thought you'd say that Andrew."

"We don't know any but Ireland," Rach and Harry say at once.

"What!" Ron looks dumbfounded. "Oh, you wait, it's the best game in the world—" And he is off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games he'd been to with his brothers and the broomstick he'd like to get if he had the money. A Chaser uses a ball called the Quaffle and throws it through, one of three hoops which are guarded by a Keeper, a guy a lot like a goalie. A chaser is a lot like a quarter-back, mixed with an offensive soccer player. Quidditch is cool, but I don't wanna do it. Brooms will probably just make me sick. How'd my mom do it? Ron is just taking Harry, Rach and me through the finer points of the game when the compartment door slides open yet again.

Three boys enter, and Harry and I recognize the boy in the middle as the boy we met in Diagon Alley.

He's looking at us with a lot more interest than he'd shown back in Diagon Alley. Git.

"Is it true?" he asks. "They're saying all down the train that The Potter Twins and Andrew Prince're in this compartment. So it's you three, is it?"

"Yes," I growl as Harry grabs my arm. The two boys on either side of the pale boy look like hulking gorillas, like they're his body guards.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," says the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Harry and I are looking. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron gives a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looks at him.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

He turns back to Harry and I. "You'll soon find out some Wizarding families are much better than others, Potters, Prince.

He winks at Rach like he knows something," You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He holds out his hand to shake Harry's but Harry doesn't take it.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he says coolly.

Draco Malfoy doesn't go red, but a pink tinge appears in his pale cheeks.

He slowly to Rachel, "Come on," he flirts, "You know you want to…" he says smirking. "I can show you everything you need to know and more."

Rachel does that thing, you know, that thing where girls look each other up and down? Well, she does that to Malfoy. "Ew."

He gets a bit more red and glances toward me, "My name is Kross," I spit, "And I don't go making friends with arrogant prats who insult my actual friends and hit on my sister."

"I'd be careful if I were you, Prince, Potters," he says slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you." He turns to me, "I suppose that's why your father abandoned your sorry arse with those filthy Muggles. You're a disgrace."

The four of us stand up at once.

"Say that again," Ron says, his face as red as his hair.

Rachel pulls me back down on the seat and sits on me so I can't retaliate. I glare at her.

"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" Malfoy sneers.

"Unless you get out now," says Harry bravely.

"But we don't feel like leaving, do we, boys? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some."

Goyle reached toward the Chocolate Frogs next to Ron - Ron leaps forward, but before he'd so much as touched Goyle, Goyle let out a horrible yell.

Scabbers the rat is hanging off his finger, sharp little teeth sank deep into Goyle's knuckle - Crabbe and Malfoy backs away as Goyle swings Scabbers round and round, howling, and when Scabbers finally flew off and hit the window, all three of them disappeared at once. The compartment door slides open, and this time it's Hermione.

I find myself locking eyes with her brown ones.

"What has been going on?" she says, looking at the sweets all over the floor and Ron picking up Scabbers by his tail.

I think he's been knocked out," Ron says to Harry. He looked closer at Scabbers. "No - I don't believe it - he's gone back to sleep-"

And so he had.

"You've met Malfoy before?"

Harry and Rachel explain about our meeting in Diagon Alley.

"I've heard of his family," said Ron darkly. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side." He turns to Hermione. "Can we help you with something?"

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there. You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!"

"Scabbers has been fighting, not us," says Ron, scowling at her. "Would you mind leaving while we change? And you too Rachel?" he asks.

"It's true," says Rachel noticing Hermione's disbelieving look.

"All right - I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," says Hermione in a sniffy voice. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

Ron glares at her as she left. Harry peers out of the window.

He Ron and I take off our jackets and pull on our long black robes. Ron's are a bit short for him, you can see his sneakers underneath them.

A voice echoes through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

I walk shakily over to Rachel and Hermione who are now talking like the best of friends in the crowded corridor. "Hermione can I talk to you?" I ask timidly.

She sighs glancing at Rachel who's nodding.., "Fine, whatever." The train slows right down and finally stops. People push their way toward the door, and we all latch hands to keep from losing each other and we come out on to a tiny, dark platform. I shiver in the cold night air.

Then a lamp comes bobbing over the head so the students, and we hear a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Fir's years over here! All right there, Harry, Rachel Andrew?"

We grin. Hagrid's big, hairy face beams over the sea of heads.

"C'mon, follow me—any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs! Years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, we follow Hagrid down what seems to be a steep, narrow path. It's so dark on either side of all of us that Harry told me he thought there must be thick trees there.

"Look, you know something's up about me, and I know you do," I tell her, "but that doesn't make me…what'd you call it? Demonic."

"I saw it!" she says, "I saw it that day! That day your eyes turned red."

"Oh, you mean this?" I ask switching over to Mage vision enough to make my eyes blink red for just a second. She stumbles backward and almost falls over before I grab her arm and steady her. "Careful," I chuckle.

She glares at me murderously through the dark. "I will find out what you are."

"You will," I say nonchalantly, "And I'm not gonna stop you, nor help you. You seem way too smart for your own good, and you're really treading dangerous waters, because once you find out what I am, you won't regard me as a human being," I tell her smirking.

"Hmmph."

I hear Trevor plead for my help in front of us. Neville is squeezing him to death.

"Neville," I chuckle, "Trevor wants you to put him in your pocket. You're squeezin' him to death. He promises he won't jump out."

"Er—okay," he says gently sliding Trevor into his robe's pocket.

I hear Harry, Rach, and Neville laugh.

I turn and grin at them.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid calls over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There's a loud "Ooooooh!" coming from all us first years.

The narrow path opens suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, is a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid calls, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. I get in a boat with Harry, Ron, and Rachel.

When Hagrid calls, "FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats are off all at once, gliding across the lake, which is as smooth as glass. Everyone is silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. Hogwarts is beautiful. It towers over us as we sail nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stands. Harry nudges me, chuckling.

"Hermione is like staring a hole into you," he whispers. I glance back at her. She is glaring at me coldly. I smirk back.

"Yeah, well she thinks I'm evil and she's gonna find out at some point what I am. She's too smart for us to outsmart her. Then, she'll definitely hate me," I say glumly.

"How could you say that? Remember what happened to Professor Berg when he messed with you and Rachel? She won't find out."

"Hope you're right," I mutter.

"I've got your back bro," says Rachel laughing.

"Heads down!" yells Hagrid as the first boats reach the cliff; we all bend our heads and the little boats carry us through a curtain of ivy that hides a wide opening in the cliff face. We are carried along a dark tunnel, which seems to be taking us right underneath the castle, until we reach a kind of underground harbor, where we clamber out onto rocks and pebbles. "Awesome," I say.

"Heck yeah," says Ron clapping me on the back. "Come on, let's go."

Then we clamber up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. We walk up a flight of stone steps and crowd around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here?" asks Hagrid.

Hagrid raises a gigantic fist and knocks three times on the castle door.

Chapter 6: Didn't See That One Coming

The door swings open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stands there. She has a very stern face and my first thought is that she isn't the type to be crossed.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," says Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulls the door wide. The entrance hall is so big you can fit the whole of the Durlseys' house in it. The stone walls are lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling is too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing us leads to the upper floors. Harry and Ron are on one side of me, and Rachel, Hermione and Neville are on the other.

We follow Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. We could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right—the rest of the school must already be here—but Professor McGonagall shows us into a small, empty chamber off the hall. We crowd in, standing rather closer together than we normally would, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," says Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room.

"The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards." I am starting to feel sick.

"While you are at Hogwarts, you triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great, honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes linger for a moment on Neville's cloak, which is fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose. Harry nervously tries to flatten his hair. I whisper in his ear, "There's no hope for it," he turns around and I smile from ear to ear, "Might as well stop trying."

Rachel is jumping up and down nervously. "Calm down Rachel, you'll do fine," I say reassuringly.

"Oh, I'm not nervous at all, I just really have to pee," she says still going up and down. I shake my head. Oh, Rachel.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," says Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She leaves the chamber. I see Harry swallow.

"How exactly do they sort us into Houses?" he asks Ron.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

"I wonder what sort of spell we'll need. I've learned as many of them as-," A girl called Lavender cut Hermione off.

"It's not going to require spells. Most students here don't know any." She glares and Lavender put her hands up in surrender, "Just saying."

"I wonder what sort of painful thing it is then?" says Neville.

"Neville," says Hermione, "Do you really think they'd hurt children?" Hermione asks astounded that he'd even ask that sort of thing.

"Well, they're really hurting my bladder right now," snaps Rachel.

Something happens and I jump three feet off the ground—people behind me scream. Hermione raises a convicting eyebrow at me narrowing her eyes. "Jumpy," I shrug.

"What the—?" Ron gasps.

I gasp. All of us do. So did the people around us. About twenty ghosts just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glid across the room talking to one another, hardly glancing at us all. They seem to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we out to give him a second chance—"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost—I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights suddenly notices us.

Nobody answers.

"New students!" says the Fat Friar, smiling around at us. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nod mutely including me.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" says the Friar. "My old House, you know."

"Hope not," mutters Rachel.

"Move along now," says a sharp voice. "The Sorting ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall has returned. One by one, the ghosts float away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall tells us, "and follow me."

My legs feel like lead as me and Harry get in line behind a short boy with sandy blonde hair and a tall black boy. Then Rachel and Ron, then Neville and Hermione, and then we walk out of the chamber back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

I've never even imagined such a strange yet awesome place. It's lit by thousands and thousands of candles that are floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students are sitting. These tables are laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall is another long table where the teachers are sitting. A tall-looking greasy black haired, hooked nose, swallowed skin, professor dressed in black is staring at me and Harry intently. I smile at him, and he looks away like he just got caught. He almost had whiplash when he saw Rachel. He looks strangely sad. Professor McGonagall leads the first years up here, so that they come to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at us look like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shine misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, I look up and see a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. Hermione is busy boring Neville , "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History."

"I know," I say turning to her grinning. She looks shocked, "In flourish and Blotts, I picked it up, opened to the middle, read a page or two, and then set it back down."

"I do that all the time," says Rachel looking ecstatic. She should've been a blonde.

Harry looks nervous, but gives me a small smile anyways. Ron looks very green, and Neville's dumbfounded. Hermione is shivering.

I watch Harry quickly looks down again as Professor McGonagall silently places a four-legged stood in front of us. On top of the stool, she puts a pointed wizard's hat. This hat is patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house. I hear Harry chuckle as if he's thinking the exact same thing.

"Maybe we have to get a rabbit out of it," Harry whispers to the five of us.

"Maybe," we say.

I don't know either way.

For a few seconds, there's complete silence. Then the hat twitches. A rip near the brim opens wide like a mouth—and the hat begins to sing:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find"

"Uh, Rachel, I think I'm losin' it…. is that thing—singing?"

She nods.

"Thank goodness."

She laughs.

"A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you out to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (thought I have none)

For I am a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall bursts into applause as the hat finishes its song. It bows to each of the four tables and then becomes still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispers to Harry. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

We crack up. Yep sounds like Fred.

But Harry doesn't, he just smiles weakly. I nudge him, "You'll do fine."

I am concerned to where I'm going, I just hope I'll make a few friends because so far, it's not going so well.

Professor McGonagall now steps forward holding a long roll of parchment. Now that's parchment, not paper.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she says. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbles out of line, puts on the hat, which falls right down over her eyes, and sets down. A moment's pause—

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouts the hat. I clap for her.

The table on the right cheers and claps as Hannah goes to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. We see the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouts the hat again, and Susan scuttles over to sit next to Hannah. I

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left claps this time; several Ravenclaws stand up to shake hands with Terry as he joins them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" goes to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" becomes the second new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left explodes with cheers; We can see Ron's twin brothers cat calling. Rachel sees them and it looks like she hit a brick wall. Her eyes go wide, and her face starts turning red.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then becomes a Slytherin.

I'm starting to definitely feel sick now. What if I get Slytherin? What if I get Ravenclaw? I'll be dead. What if it can't decide between Slytherin or Ravenclaw?

"Flinch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, we notice, the hat shouts out the House at once, but at others it takes a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy next to me in the line, sat on the stool for a whole minute before the hat declares him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!" She almost runs up to the stool, and jams it eagerly on her head. Harry, Neville, Ron, Rach and I burst out laughing.

"Mental that one," Ron mutters, "I'm telling you."

"She will do great things," I say grinning

Ron and I crack up.

Rach has to hold me up, because I almost went down laughing so hard.

Everyone in the hall stares at us. We suddenly become still and Hermione stares a hole into me. I wink back.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouts the hat. I clap and woop for her.

Ron groans.

She looks at me as she takes off the hat grinning from ear to ear and goes to sit by Percy the Prefect.

"Kross-Prince, Andrew."

Silence falls upon the Great Hall when my name is called, and then everyone start whispering to each other.

"Andrew Kross?"

"Wait Prince?"

"As in the Andrew Prince?"

I walk up nervously, silently thinking Please be Gryffindor. Please be Gryffindor. Please be Gryffindor. I reach the stool, and lower the hat onto my head, my eyes closed.

"Ha!" I jump into the air. Laughs erupt across the hall. "Don't get your panties in a wad, I'm not gonna hurt ya. Intresting, fierce loyalty, not a bad mind, extremely brave, very opinionated and an intense thirst to prove yourself. A lot like your father, but not enough to be in the same house. He'll be very proud none the less. Good luck Andrew Kross, you've just made history." It shudders, the hat literally shudders. "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindors explode. It's so loud I have to cover my ears. Everyone stands up to shake my hand, give me knuckles, high five me and clap me on the back. Fred and George are yelling, "We got Kross! We got Kross!" I shoot a glance at Hermione and she grins, "Friends?" I question.

"I guess you can't be that bad," she calls. I get a goofy smile on my face that doesn't seem to want to go away. Seriously, no matter how hard I try, I can't stop. I glance down at my no longer plain robes. My tie has changed to scarlet and gold, and the Gryffindor seal appears on the left side of my chest.

I sit down next to her, "Still not telling you what I am," I whisper.

"Kross, you should learn that I don't need help to find out what I want."

My mouth hangs open jokingly, "Hermione Granger," I say dramatically, "Is that a threat?"

"No," she says simply, "It's a statement."

"Longbottom, Neville."

He falls on his way up to the hat. The hat takes a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouts, "GRYFFINDOR!" Neville runs off still wearing it, and amid gales of laughter, has to jog back and put it back onto the stool. Then he goes to the table with us and I clap him on his back and Hermione high fives him.

Draco Malfoy swaggers up to the stool when his name is called and gets his wish at once: the hat barely touches his head when it screams, "SLYTHERIN!"

Draco goes to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

There aren't many people left now.

"Macmillan" …"Moon"…, "Nott"…,

As Harry steps forward, whispers fire all over the hall way more than when my name was called.

"Potter, did she say?"

"The Harry Potter?"

We roll our eyes, at all the people craning their necks at Harry as I silently cross my fingers under the table. It looks as if he's gripping the edges of the stool pretty hard whispering to himself. It takes a while to sort him. The hat looks to be thinking really hard about where to put him. I hope he gets Gryffindor, even though I'd like to have my brother in my house.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Yes!" I yell triumphantly, and the cheers at the Gryffindor table are as deafening as when I was sorted. Percy gets up and shakes his hand vigorously while Fred and George are busy shouting, "We got Harry Potter AND Andrew Kross!"

"Congrats Bro!" I yell clapping him on the back.

"You too," He yells back.

"Potter, Rachel," calls McGonagall. Rachel pales at once staring a hole into Harry. She's shaking as she takes her spot on the stool. There's a boom of whispers just like Harry's.

"Rachel Potter, well they don't look a thing a like."

"She's famous and hot!" exclaims a third year. I feel a muscle in my jaw jumping up and down.

"Blimey!" Harry's jaw drops beside me.

I turn toward him. "What is it?"

"I think I just heard Rachel's thoughts."

"What? That's impos-"

He cuts me off, "OH no, she's going into Slytherin," he says sadly.

I gawk, "What, how do you-"

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat calls as grins devilishly at us, walking over to the exploding Slytherin table, who mocks Fred and George. They stand up, "Well, WE CONSIDER OUR GIRL A PART OF OUR HOUSE!"

"How the heck could you have called that Harry?"

"I told you, I can hear her thoughts."

"How?"

"I don't know," he says laughing, "But she insulted the hat, and it said with a mouth like that, she belonged in Slytherin."

I laugh. That does sound like Rachel.

"She tells you to shut up," says Harry.

I roll my eyes.

We catch Hagrid's eye up at the High Table and he gives us all two thumbs up and winks at me knowingly. I grin. Dumbledore is in the middle in a large golden chair. He catches my eye and bears his blue eyes into me. He gives me a small smile and raises his glass. For some reason I don't like the stare he gives me.

The professor who was staring at me earlier is doing it again. I smile at him. It's not a menacing stare, it's more of a-a is it really you kind of stare mixed with a little disappointment. The disappointment makes me feel a bit guilty for some reason. He looks away. He looks at Rachel and I could've sworn I seen a tears in his eyes.

"Oy Fred!" I say as "Thomas, Dean," is sorted into Gryffindor.

"What?" He asks as Turpin, Lisa is sorted into Ravenclaw.

I point at the professor who was staring at me. "Who is that?"

"Oh, he's professor Snape, git."

"He seems nice," I say.

Fred looks as if he's seen a ghost. Well, technically he has, but you know what I mean. Him and George bust into hysterical laughter. "Snape's one of the meanest teachers in the school."

"Seriously," says George, "he put me and Fred in detention for a month for politely telling him where he can buy some good shampoo," He flips his hair, "works for me anyway."

I snort, but then get really self-conscious of my own hair. I stare down at my plate.

"Sounds like he was right to do that then," says Hermione disapprovingly.

"Trust us, he's a right prat," says Fred. We nod again and now it's Ron Weasley's turn. He's pale green by now, and a second later he gets his wish as the hat shouts, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The rest of the Gryffindor table including me whistles and hoops and hollers as Ron collapses into the chair next to Harry. Neville claps him on the back.. Ron smiles back sheepishly.

"Well done, Ron, excellent," I Percy Weasley says pompously on the other side of Hermione as "Zabini, Blaise," is made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolls up her scroll and takes the Sorting Hat away.

I look down at my plate, and my stomach growls.

Albus Dumbledore had gets to his feet. He's beaming at us, his arms opened wide, as if nothing can have pleased him more than to see us all here.

"Welcome!" he says. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

He sits back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. I don't know whether to laugh or not.

"He's a bit…off isn't he?" I ask George.

He chuckles, "Mad, but brilliant."

"Finally, I'm starving," Seamus Finnegan exclaims.

"Potatoes, Harry, Andrew?" Percy asks.

My mouth falls open. I almost fall off my seat. The dishes in front of us are now piled with food. We have never seen so many things we like to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, fries and turkey, summer sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, pickles, corn, gravy, hamburger, and, for some strange reason, those little peppermint circle things...

Rachel comes over to our table smiling, "I hate that hat."

"Rach, I gotta be careful around you now," I say jokingly, "You're a snake now."

She rolls her eyes, "Quiet Frog Boy." She sits in between Fred and George. The two of them are staring smugly at the Slytherins. I can't help, but noticing the looks she's getting from the other Slytherins. I shake my head at her and begin to eat.

Rach mentions something about the dung bomb we created in science that day in Berg's class and she has engaged Fred and George in a very deep yet shallow conversation about pranks, the only thing Rachel has common sense about. Well, I wouldn't call it common sense.

"Cool!" says Dean Thomas, his eyes wide.

I'm shocked

The Dursleys had never exactly starved the twins and I, but we'd never been allowed to eat as much as we liked. I get mashed potatoes, summers sausage, a baked potato and some fries, and dig in.

"That does look good," said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Harry cut up his steak,

"Can't you -?"

I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've in introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" says Ron suddenly. "My brothers told me about you—you're Nearly Headless Neck!"

"I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy—" the ghost begins stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnegan—who is sitting next to Sir Nicholas—interrupts.

"Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly Headless?"

Sir Nicholas looks extremely annoyed.

Hermione seems to know exactly where this is going and quickly says, "Sir Nicholas, you don't have too—"

"Like this," Nick says irritably, ignoring her. He seizes his left ear and pulls. His whole head swings off his neck and falls onto his shoulder as if it's on a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on our faces and hearing Hermione's gag, Nearly Headless Nick flips his head back onto his neck, coughs, and says, "So—new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the House Championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the Cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable—he's the Slytherin ghost."

Harry looks over at the Slytherin table and sees a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He is right next to Malfoy who, Harry, Rach, and I are pleased to see, doesn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements.

"How did he get covered in blood?" asks Seamus with great interest.

"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

When everyone has eaten as much as we can, the remains of the food fades from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appear. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding…

I grin at Harry, Rach and Hermione, then, help myself to some green Jell-O. As Harry helps himself to a treacle tart, the talk turns to our families.

"I'm half-and-half," says Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mum didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."

We all laugh.

"What about you, Neville?" says Ron.

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," says Neville, "but the family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me—he pushed me off the end of a Blackpoll pier once, I nearly drowned—but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was ganging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced—all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here—they thought I might be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."

My jaw falls, "He could've killed you!"

Neville shrugs.

"My family's pureblood. You all probably know the lot of them by now," says Ron.

"I guess I'm pureblood, I don't know. They only told me my mom was a-a witch and my dad was a wizard," I shrug, "don't even know his name."

A few people looked at me weirdly acted like they were gonna say something and then they don't.

"My parents are dentists," says Hermione. A few look at her like they don't know what she's talking about. "Muggles who clean people's teeth."

There's a few, "Ohs," that don't seem very convincing.

On my other side, Hermione and Percy start talking about lessons ("I do hope they start right away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult—"; "You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing—")

I laugh, "I like Potions."

"Good luck with that. It's what Snape teaches."

I roll my eyes, "He seems nice."

Percy, Fred, and George bang their heads off the table.

"Ouch!" says Rachel and Harry at once clapping hands to their scars.

"Okay, what's up?" I ask worriedly.

"N-Nothing."

"My ear burned," says Rachel clutching her right ear.

I follow their stares up to Snape and Quirrel confused.

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asks Percy.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to—everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

"He seems nice," I say again irritably.

Snape stares past Harry and right at me. He sees me and his lip twitches upward. He still looks depressed. I smile at him again. My jaw drops as my eyes give him a Mage's greeting, but his don't glow. He's a normal wizard, so why did my eyes go off like that? It's involuntary. I see him give me a small smile, and I look quickly away.

I'm going to die. I need to get this crap under control.

At last, the desserts too disappear, and Professor Dumbledore gets to his feet again. The hall falls silent.

"Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashes in the direction of the Weasley twins. Harry and I snort. Hermione shoots us scolding looks.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry, Rach, and I laugh, but we some of the few who did. Hermione looks startled.

"He's not serious?" she mutters to Percy.

"Must be," says Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere—the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us prefects, at least."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cries Dumbledore. Harry and I notice the other teachers' smiles become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gives his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly of the end, and a long golden ribbon flies out of it, which rises high above the tables and twists itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," says Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And the school bellows other than the first years who don't have siblings here:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff.

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

Just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot."

Everybody finishes the song at different time. At last, only the Weasley twins are left singing along to a very slow funeral march. All four of us snort as Dumbledore conducts their last few lines with his wand and when they finish, he is one of those who clap loudest. I think I've laughed more in the last month than I have in a long time.

"Ah, music," he says, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

We, along with the other Gryffindor first years follow Percy through the chattering crowds, as Rachel heads towards the dungeons. Out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Harry is too sleepy to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whisper and point as we pass, but the four of them do laugh at me when I jump up to Hermione's shoulders when they do, and she glares at me like she's telling me she's not going to give up on figuring the 'Demon Boy' out or that twice Percy leads us through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. We climb staircases, yawning and dragging our feet, and I am just wondering how much farther we have to go when we come to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks are floating in midair ahead of them, my eyes widen trying to decide if I am hallucinating or not, and as Percy takes a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," Percy whispers to all of us first years. "A poltergeist." He raises his voice, "Peeves—show yourself."

A loud, rude sound, like air being let out of a balloon, answers.

There's a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appears, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

"Oooooooh!" he says, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"

He swoops suddenly at them. We all duck.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barks Percy.

Peeves sticks out his tongue and vanishes, dropping the walking sticks on Neville's head. (Ow!) He rubs the back of his head. We hear him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passed.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," says Percy, as they set off again. "The Bloody Barons' the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hangs a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she says.

"Caput Draconis," says Percy, and the portrait swings forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. We all scramble through it—Neville needs a leg up, which I give him—and found ourselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs.

Percy directs the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another.

"Night Hermione," I mumble sleepily as I walk by her.

"Good Night Demon Boy ," she says rolling her eyes with a smile on her face as she walks up to her dormitory.

I head up the staircase with Harry, Ron, and Neville. At the top of a spiral staircase—we are obviously in one of the towers—we find our beds at last: six four-posters hang with deep red, velvet curtains. Our trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, we pull on our pajamas and fall into bed. Bruiser, jumping on me, wagging his tail and attempting to lick me like he hasn't seen me in forever. I shove him off me gently, and he curls up under the covers. I pull off the gauntlet revealing a pink imprint where it was. It's a relief to let my arm breathe, let me tell you.

"Great food, isn't it?" Ron murmurs to us three through the hangings. "Get off, Scabbers! He's chewing my sheets."

I snort, "Jell-O was pretty good," I say before falling immediately asleep, dreaming about Professor Snape talking to me and I can't stop sobbing. He tells me to calm down, something about a prophecy. And that He whoever he might be is waiting for me. Quirrel is there and his turban kept screaming at me to join him. To kill.

Harry wakes me up, shaking in the middle of the night, "Dude, you're drenched in sweat and your eyes are red."

"You are too."

My eyes light up the room as he tells me about a dream, in which he was wearing Professor Quirrel's turban, and it kept telling him to transfer to Slytherin and to take me and Rachel with him because it was our destinies. He kept telling it no, and it kept getting heavier and heavier. Malfoy was there laughing at him as he struggled with it. I was there too, and my eyes glow red and I started laughing at him too. Snape had his hand on my shoulder and his laugh turned high and cold and there was a flash of green light and Harry woke up.

I tell him about mine, and when I finish he goes, "What does this mean?"

I shrug, "Whatever it means, it's not good."

He thinks it over for a bit then says, "We'll reason it later. Right now, we need to get some sleep for tomorrow."

I nod, and hop silently into bed. I can't sleep, so I end up on the floor, where an hour and a half later I finally fall back to sleep.

I hope those suffice for me being late ill have the next chapter up next week. Well, I guess it is my fault I got grounded. I promise I won't be late again. I think I may have another story up soon. This one's gonna be a Snilly time travel fic, so when it's up check it out. (:

I almost forgot the music. So Skillet's entire Rise album is great. You all should check it out.

I also like Next to me by Emeli Sande.

If you'd like you could always leave a review. I always enjoy reading people's comments. Seriously, is this story a dud? Just wanna know. Be Brutal. I want your honest opinions. Don't hold anything back.

Until next time

Luke923HA


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